Comehither
by ATemporarilyLostPhyz
Summary: Draco's punishment for an Unforgivable failure is to entertain the Dark Lord, with whom Harry shares a connection of mind. He experiences what Voldemort feels, and he begins to fall for his schoolyard nemesis. Now he has to fight to put daylight between his love and the real enemy. AU OotP, HPDM.
1. Draco's Unforgivable Predicament

**Disclaimer**: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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**Chapter 1**

**Draco's Unforgivable Predicament**

A ring of torches burned weakly around the circular, dungeon-like room, casting a warm glow onto the thirteen dark-cloaked figures below. One of them stood separate from the rest, his unnaturally large, pale, spidery hands twirling his wand. Not a breath of wind stirred their cloaks, nor did the figures seem to want to move. In the middle of the room shivered an ancient man with bulging grey eyes darting about the figures surrounding him.

"I tire of your presence, Ollivander," came a voice so cold, high and unnatural it sounded like a hushed, undying scream, like metal crashing into metal, an accident of nature. "Tell me about the Elder Wand and I may decide to spare your life."

There came a low hiss from somewhere near Voldemort's shoulder, and a smile dragged the corners of his lipless mouth upwards as one of his large hands rose and lovingly caressed a snake of giant proportions which slithered along the top of his throne. "The wandmaker does not cooperate, Nagini… What shall we do?" The chilling smile widened when the snake hissed again and flicked its forked tongue in the air, tasting, its slit eyes fixing upon the shaken, skinny old man on the floor. He lay prostrated upon the grimy dungeon floor, avoiding the piercing stare of Voldemort's red slit eyes.

The cold, high-pitched voice spoke again and cut through the stale silence of the torch-lit room: "Perhaps you need some motivation. Lucius, I believe your son is adequately skilled in the Unforgivables, is he not?"

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius said at once, and gave the figure next to him a slight push forward. His son tentatively stepped forward out of the black ring and drew his wand.

Mr Ollivander's eyes, swollen and white with fear, shot to the instrument in Draco's quaking hands.

"Hawthorn and unicorn hair, ten inches exactly," he stuttered almost absent-mindedly, possibly delving into aspects of his craft to find some calm, and was rewarded with shrill laughter that rang across the dungeon room. Mr Ollivander, however, remained transfixed on the young boy approaching him.

"_Crucio!_" cried Draco.

More laughter broke through the circle.

"Your son is weak, Lucius."

Draco had no idea whose lips hissed his father's name. Was it his master or his great snake? He could not help give a nervous glance behind him, and under the gaze of the bleak torchlight, he noticed his father held his immaculate composure.

"My Lord, he's young..." Lucius apologized.

"And pretty!" Macnair cut in. He was a tall, bulky Death Eater giving a leering laugh that was echoed by the other Death Eaters. Growling lustfully, he launched himself at Draco as the wandmaker was taken aside. Lucius watched the scene through the slits of his hood with cool grey eyes. The figure standing closest to Voldemort shifted slightly.

Silence returned, punctuated only by Macnair breathing heavily inches above Draco's face. From the shadow of Voldemort's hood glinted a flash of red. He seemed newly inspired.

"Perhaps your son, too, needs a little motivation," Voldemort said. "Macnair, proceed."

"Don't..." Draco whispered feebly at the huge man, his voice cracking horribly with fear.

Macnair licked his lips obscenely and wrestled Draco to the floor, and the boy's screams reverberated off the walls as his silk black robes were torn off his body by powerful and eager hands. The figure on Voldemort's right moved again.

"Would you perhaps like to join Macnair, Severus? I see you can barely contain yourself."

"My Lord," said Snape softly, "I confess I'm far from enthralled with a fifteen-year-old boy whose talent is negligible even in something as trivial as torture."

Meanwhile, the giant snake was wounding itself around Voldemort's neck, brown diamond shapes flickering on its scales as bleak light fell upon them. There was a moment where Voldemort's eyes were fastened upon Snape intensely, but he then smiled at the man and turned his eyes on Lucius.

"My Lord…" stuttered Lucius. Voldemort did not change his expression. It seemed to Lucius his master was not forbidding him from acting, so the blond-haired man swept over to the centre of the ring and pushed his wand into the temple of his son's assailant.

"Get off my son."

The command sliced through the laughter of the other Death Eaters, carried upon a soft hiss that gave pause from even one of the most corrupt of Voldemort's followers. Macnair searched out the eyes of his master for further instruction.

"Leave him be, Lucius," ordered Voldemort, in his thin, cold voice, which was entirely absent of mercy.

"But, my Lord, my son. Perhaps we could make another arrangement," Lucius begged calmly.

The words rang through the silence that had suddenly befallen the dungeon room, again broken only by Draco's erratic panting, and for several moments, Voldemort did not speak. Then finally, with a soft stroke to his snake, he observed, "Your son is not able to cast mere Unforgivables. It is only fitting he be punished."

The words were left to hang in a horrible quiet. But then, with a malevolent smile curving his lipless mouth, Voldemort continued, "Yes, I must confess, young Draco here is quite a sight, wouldn't you agree?"

The Death Eaters agreed wholeheartedly – or rather, heartlessly in dark laughter.

On the cold, stone floor, Draco's chest heaved in panic. His face was devoid of colour, paler than usual, as his body was left exposed to the ring of dark-cloaked figures around him, his naked chest and parted legs gleaming in the wan dungeon torchlight. His eyes were fixed past Macnair, straight up at the black ceiling, terrified they might escape his control and stray to the Dark Lord, the Death Eaters, or his father.

Towering above him as though he were not on his knees, Macnair bared his large, yellow teeth at Draco, growling lustfully once more, his one unobstructed eye raking over Draco's pale, innocent flesh lying below him – devouring those thin, shell-pink lips, the startled grey eyes widened with horror, and long, platinum-blond hair splayed on the dungeon floor like an angel's halo.

"Until I give him another chance to prove himself again, Draco here will... service us in our chambers." Voldemort's shrill laughter echoed those of his followers, but Lucius' figure moved not an inch.

"My Lord—"

"Never mind, Lucius."

The words were barely stern, yet they silenced Lucius at once. The other Death Eaters fell quiet as well, and their robes rustled uncomfortably in the freshly tense air.

The endless length of the snake, as though sensing the closing, flowed smoothly down Voldemort's throne like the breadth of a wide waterfall, and the rest of its massive body fell to the floor with such a dense thump it seemed to momentarily freeze all the muscles in Draco's body, for Draco went rigid as though he had been Stupefied, even though he was used to suffering the snake's accompany for several months.

His reaction, shared by some of the Death Eaters surrounding him, was understandable, for Voldemort was inclined to use the snake as a live weapon, ready to be inflicted upon any of his followers who proved themselves less than infallible in their malevolent endeavours, prepared to suffer the same fate as those very Muggles and half-bloods they hunted. Hence how it grew to such an alarming size was not a mystery to any Death Eater.

"However, you are a most valued servant, Lucius," Voldemort went on, the name of his servant falling from his lips in that horrible hiss. "I will allow your son a little mercy." Voldemort swept his red slit eyes over his men. "He will pleasure only those I deem worthy, and those chosen are never to force themselves on your son. They are to play a passive role only. That should give your son ample room to show his true colours: a pretty whore."

Heading to the grand foyer where the Apparition chamber stood, Voldemort and his Death Eaters – among whom the most reluctant was Macnair – exited the dungeon in gales of cruel laughter, and bringing up the rear, as though in venomous summary of all the new ills that now bode for father and son, the snake slithered unnervingly slowly out of the room.

Lucius stood rigidly as his eyes followed the tail of Voldemort's snake until the iron door put it out of sight. Then, in the silent wake of the departed, Lucius' emotionless expression coolly took in the lump of gleaming limbs on the floor before heading over to them and lazily waving his wand above his son; Draco's tattered robes repaired themselves around his small form.

"Get up," Lucius ordered dispassionately, and strode to the heavy iron doors after sneering in the direction of an emaciated Mr Ollivander, who was quivering in the corner. His terrified, bulging eyes followed Lucius as one withered, green-veined hand hung onto the bar of his cage.

Draco pulled himself to his feet and followed the taller Malfoy, his breath hitching, and his forehead sweaty. Lucius, for whatever reason, did not open the door but stood in front of it as his distant gaze fell on a random spot on its black surface. It was as though he were waiting for the muffled footstalls beyond the door to disappear completely. Then, a few seconds later, he swept the door open and strode out. In silence, Draco trailed behind his father as they weaved through the vast mansion until minutes later, they stood in the more refined harshness of the master bedroom, and Lucius, after tossing his snake cane onto his pale-gold-quilted duvet, quietly drawled, "You realize exactly what you've gotten yourself into?"

Draco squinted down at the Axminster in shame.

"I'm sorry, Father. I'll try harder to master the Unforgivables," he mumbled, his shaky voice thick with contrition. And the distance between him and the snake cane resting innocently on the bed behind his father did little to comfort him. But a part of him was sure punishment would no longer come in the form of a beating with a cane. Not after tonight.

Lucius continued, as though uninterrupted, "You've managed to make yourself a whore for the entire body, Draco." The name was spoken with a soft, icy politeness as steely, silver eyes stared down at the younger man. "Do you realize what damage this dealt to the Malfoy name? To me?"

Draco's throat worked for several moments, but he did not answer. Apart from the chilling silence that spiralled around them, the elegance of his father's room – with its striking silver finishes scattered about it, its almost unforgiving spotlessness, and the masculine, scant presence of embellishing ornaments or possession – made his father's words register so much more cold and piercing.

"Look at yourself..." said Lucius, with the slightest note of a sneer in his voice, but the background of the room beyond him somehow seemed to nevertheless reinforce it. Draco gazed up into his father's damning eyes after he was roughly pushed forward in front of a tall, ornate mirror. "Long hair..." Lucius weaved his hand viciously through Draco's soft, platinum-blond locks, glaring at him in the mirror. "...Your height, lips..." He stretched Draco's lips with his fingers so they formed two thin, white strips. "...Hands..." Lucius flapped Draco's small, delicate hands in derision. "These are not hands of a man!" he growled.

By this time Draco was shaking from hair to toe, tears stinging the backs of his eyes, but he refused them way and pursed his lips in defiance.

Lucius faced his son with glaring scrutiny for a moment before hauling up himself to his full, rather impressive height. He composed himself and took a deep breath.

"Perhaps you could have done with that scar across your cheek I promised you, hm?" he said, glaring a hole into the top of Draco's head. "But if I dared to be honest with myself, I would admit your looks are partly my fault – your hair is undoubtedly from me. But your lamentable... petiteness is decidedly from Narcissa's line. Curse your beautiful mother..."

Draco was looking down at his boots as a silent, treacherous tear finally dropped down his pale cheek, twinkling like a golden diamond in the soft light. His offended hands were not even clenched in indignation but resigned to their judgement as un-masculine and left to hang limply at his sides.

The voice that he so treasured and respected, heavy with pitiless disapproval, obliterated the minute pride he held for his hands that had stemmed from the compliment they were paid when he had been helping Severus brew one of his many potions for the first time. Severus had held up his hand and had taken them in with his eyes. Draco had not known why he had been doing this, and so had kept silent. A tiny smile, but a smile nonetheless, had curled those usually stoic lips upwards, and Severus had said, _"At least there's one thing right about you: the hands of a potion-maker – long, thin, deft, and precise." _

Now that fondness was annihilated by this man, whom he held so dear, all because he was not strong or powerful enough to cast an Unforgivable, which had led to the Dark Lord making him a rent pet for his sycophants to enjoy. He already knew that the Macnair animal had had it in for him since he was as young as eight; that haggard face had always been secretly leering and raking him from top down lustfully when no one was watching. Tonight, he had nearly gotten his longstanding wish; that one eye bearing malicious lust enough to compensate for the patched one made his skin crawl. He loathed Macnair, and he had vowed not to find himself in his repulsive company without either of his parents or Severus with him, lest he found himself in a horrific situation.

He loved his father, but how could he ridicule him and hurt him so deeply? It was true he cut a cold figure; it was true Draco should have been used to the dispassionate demeanour by now, but this could not help stave off the stabbing betrayal he felt. And now to be judged and thrown aside like this, to be whored out to a horde of Death Eaters... When Macnair had launched himself upon him, he had not searched out his father's eyes, for he had learned that every time he did so, he would only be met with glassy, grey slates, so much like his own and yet so different. He did not think he could achieve such coldness as his father had, but he was required to do so. Required to be the spitting image of him. To be as cold, calculating, commanding, powerful, and effortlessly elegant. And he was most certainly required to be able to cast any of the Unforgivables at will.

Months of studying, months of fervent fascination with the Unforgivables, but now they turn on him! Why had the curse not sprung from his wand? He had prepared for so long…!

It was too late now. He had to carry his fate. What made the situation just slightly better was that he would not be hurt badly: his father's good standing with the Dark Lord afforded him the mercy of not being forcibly taken; it was he who would do the doing. But this did not make Draco feel any better about it. In fact, _au contraire_, it broke his pride only more: he would be forced to act on his own volition – worse on top of feeling a fundamental and acute sense of betrayal by his very own body.

"I'm sorry, Father," Draco mumbled feebly, and felt as though the very air on which his words floated seemed to jeer at them.

For a moment Lucius merely looked down at his only son. His expression shifted from an inscrutable emotion to a frosty temper before he turned on the heel of his dragon-hide boot and swept out the room.

A thousand kilometres away Harry woke from a fitful, terrifying sleep.

A pair of green eyes peeked out and idly studied the ceiling. It was part of the daily routine: wake, exist, go to sleep – an endless monotony of living – unembellished, grey, and apathetic. Reflexively his hand came up to his brow and rubbed his scar… It had been throbbing dully throughout his summer, heralding Voldemort's return and signifying his preparations for the domination of anything that so much as hopped happily.

He was back, Cedric was dead, and everything seemed bleaker than the very room in which Harry slept at number four, Privet Drive. He opened his eyes fully, stretched, and turned his blank stare towards the outside of his window, into the bright, sunlit afternoon – the day before his birthday.

Hedwig was out hunting and doing whatever owls did in the open world while he was left here in this ordinary house to endure the torture of the Dursleys. At least they never changed and he could rely on their insults, forcing him do tedious chores, and near starvation to console his need of constancy and balance after going through his tumultuous fourth year at Hogwarts. He allowed the mundaneness of the Muggle world to embrace him as he returned from school. A quiet, ordinary peace, no more than that.

Seldom was he content these days. He would either be scrubbing the floor and dishes or doing his summer schoolwork, never wanting to give his mind a moment to rest on the things that tormented him. But come night, those demons took free reign of his mind: they wrapped around him and squeezed like a diabolical anaconda until he burst in a sweaty daze, sourly flavoured with fear, guilt, and revulsion, never granted the mercy of being swallowed whole into reprievable insanity.

Shaking off his sluggishness from sleep, Harry lazily rose out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Later, like clockwork, he did his chores and pushed through some of his essays while intermittently striding over to the window and staring out of it just to clear his mind and try not to think, sweeping his gaze on the surrounding matchbox houses, the spartan streets, and the rolling, forget-me-not peaceful sky. How he wished he could be as innocent as these bleak sights were, wished he never witnessed the resurrection of the darkest wizard of the century, wished he never witnessed the death of a dear friend. He knew he should not dwell on these thoughts; they would do him no good. He trudged back to his desk and continued his studies.

Close to ten o'clock Harry's eyelids started drooping, and his backside had grown sore from sitting on the chair for so long. He was reading something to do with the third class of enhancement potions, or something like that. He decided to call it a night right then, realizing his mind was absorbing the text in rations which did not make sense; Harry was quite sure potions were not related to pangas, even remotely. Thus, giving in to the lull of sleep, he closed _Post-Moderne Potions_ by Perkus Naelblume and went to settle in his bed. The sky was dark and peaceful outside, and the streets eerily quiet. Resolving to catch a few Z's before the strike of midnight – his birthday – Harry shut his eyes and sighed deeply into the rough, unwelcoming covers.

Just three seconds later the green numbers of his alarm clock proclaimed the time 11:58 – two minutes before he would turn fifteen. He would celebrate it cautiously, quietly, in solitude; never allowed to let his joy go beyond his room, never allowed just a modicum of happiness beyond it. As he lay there, he thought about Ron and Hermione, his two best friends in the whole world, thought about all the other wonderful things for which he could be grateful: Sirius, his godfather, whom he had only discovered a year ago. He wanted to be with Sirius, so much at times it caused him physical ache.

But he would be able to see him and spend time with him when he went back to Hogwarts. Professor Lupin, Sirius' friend and another person who came from his parents' time, and somebody to whom Harry felt close, comfortable with, and thought him almost as a mentor even. And Professor Dumbledore. He knew Dumbledore cared for and was fond of him very much. He had people that loved him, and he could look forward to those wonderful moments with them, away from the Dursleys.

_Beep! Beep! Beep! _

Harry smiled wanly. "Happy birthday, Harry," he murmured to himself in the dark stillness. He closed his eyes. Nothing changed – the silence remained unyielding, and the loneliness refused leave.

But almost immediately following the screeching announcement of the alarm clock that it was midnight was the sound of flapping wings. His sleepiness suddenly gone, Harry threw off the quilt excitedly and greeted the four owls as they swooped inside one by one through the window he had left open in anticipation for their arrival. One of them, a large, grey one, keeled over on his bed after a rather unceremonious landing, dragging down its partner, little Pigwidgeon, with him. Hedwig, conversely, landed gracefully on his headboard as always and surveyed the unconscious bird on the bed with disdain clearly written all over her body. She flapped her feathers regally, hooted, and rearranged herself on the headboard with what one would call dignity.

"Hey, girl," Harry said softly as he patted her with a smile, and she nipped at his hand affectionately before ruffling her feathers again, a gesture which clearly told him she had had enough.

Harry assented with a wry smile, withdrew his apparently offensive hand and went over to the large heap of feathers on his bed. He tried to rouse it into life; one large yellow eye peeked out and a shaking leg was offered, prompting him to show mercy and remove the baggage. Harry obliged with an amused shake of his head: he untied the large box and proceeded to the smaller box Pigwidgeon was carrying.

Inside the boxes were strawberry cake, a dozen mince pies, and another green sweater with a big, red 'H' on the front. Without prompt Harry was munching, fingering his cake, and quietly thanking Mrs Weasley profusely as he went over to Hedwig to relieve her of her package. Sirius had sent him an ornate dagger with silver intricate carvings that ran seamlessly from the hilt to the tip of the blade on either sides. Upon further scrutiny the markings seemed to have some sort of order, but one Harry could not discern at that moment. The edge, very sharp, looking as though it could give him a cut if he so much as neared his skin to it, was delicately serrated. And for a moment, Harry thought that the grooves were miniscule extensions of the intricate carvings themselves. No note came with the dagger, which only added to its mystery. Harry grew a little frustrated at it, as though it were a present he had not already unpackaged, as though it were still locked. But Sirius gave it to him, and he decided he loved it.

He then moved on to the handsome tawny owl he knew came from Hogwarts. As usual, it carried the Hogwarts letter informing him that school started on the first of September, it had a list of his new school books, and it went on to remind him of the school rules for the fifth time in as many years.

He removed a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ from Hermione's package, as well as – most predictably – a large, mercifully thin tome entitled, _Useless Magic: A Collection of the Most Marginal, Mundane Magic Imaginable_.

_Well, that's... helpful…_

He idly flicked through it, finding that it had no trouble in living up to its name: it was indeed useless; there were many trivial spells that did very common things and tricks, such as the Pimple-Vanishing Charm, Shoelace-Tying Charm, the Impervius Charm Hermione had used to dry his glasses in a Quidditch match in third year, and Harry even came across a Vomit-Inducing Charm; if only Muggle models knew of this one…

Every now and then, however, Harry discovered a spell that seemed relatively useful in its own right and rather did not belong in the book; some spells stood out, but blended in – somehow. Admittedly these were not complex, high-rated spells such as an Impediment Hex or an Unforgivable Curse, but they were somewhat useful, despite the title. Harry put the book down, undecided as to how to feel about it, but he was nevertheless thankful to Hermione. At the very least it could serve as a physical shield against any hex-happy Slytherins feeling a little bolder this year knowing Voldemort was back.

Harry stepped back and stared at the presents on his bed from his loved ones – the food, the dagger, the literature. Not long after, he rested his head on his pillow and closed his eyes with a smile to bid farewell to his fifteenth birthday, feeling so much more loved than when he had awoken.


	2. Dumbledore's Letter

**Chapter 2**

**Dumbledore's Letter**

Harry left the train alone; Ron and Hermione were prefects and were having a meeting in another compartment. He waved emphatically at his half-giant friend, Hagrid, who waved back at him with a huge hand the size of dustbin lids as he continued to bellow orders at the stream of even shorter kids thronging at his feet.

"This way, first-years, this way!"

Harry slipped through the thick forest of bodies and eager voices towards the horseless carriages that would take them to the gates of the castle… Or they were supposed to be horseless…

Harry stopped where he stood, his jaw hanging somewhere in the region of his middle and his eyes swelling at the... creatures that were strapped up to the carriages. Suddenly awoken to a few misgivings about approaching them, he scanned around and noted that he was the only person betraying such hesitation – all the other kids were climbing up happily into the carriages, chatting, completely oblivious to the ugly creatures that would drag their carts to Hogwarts.

Before he could form an opinion on what he thought about the appearance of the horse-like abominations, a very pale girl with waist-length blonde hair and abnormally protuberant eyes floated over to his side and spoke in a dreamy voice so ridiculous she must be someone who did not take herself seriously.

"You can see them as well?"

Harry turned abruptly to her. "Er, yeah?" he said, in an inquiring, reasonable manner, for he did not want to sound as loony as the girl appeared. To enhance this facade, he adopted a sceptic and judgemental look so that he could appear as though he were regarding her as strange – in short, he was trying to appear comparatively normal.

Nonetheless the girl only smiled and nodded approvingly at him as though ushering him into her own crazy world: apparently his sceptic look had not carried.

"Thestrals, they're called," said the girl vaguely. But before she could continue – as there was every indication she would – she was interrupted by a loud voice with a very mother-like tone.

"Honestly, Ron, he's not planning anything evil! I think he was more tolerable than any other time since we set foot in that castle! Now hurry up! Harry! You should have been up there by now!"

Without a moment's notice, Hermione swept them all off towards the repulsive Thestrals, as the blonde girl had called them, and into one of the awaiting carriages.

The Sorting took a little longer than last year but finished soon enough, followed by the great feast and a couple of interspersed speeches by Headmaster Dumbledore. Harry idly let his eyes roam around the Great Hall when Dumbledore took his seat to see the students of Hogwarts in their entirety. He saw the same faces, and a good sprinkling of new ones mingled among them. A cursory look down the Slytherin table, merely for the sake of completeness, revealed that nothing was new there as well.

Inexorably, his gaze fell upon Malfoy, the loudest mouth in the Slytherin House and whose uppity smirk made him seem as arrogant and aloof as ever. Harry narrowed his eyes at the lean, blond figure, wondering when Malfoy was going to take the Dark Mark, if he had not already. But he let his attention wander back to his food, not wishing to work himself up on the first day back at Hogwarts, even though Death Eaters were a considerable part of the reason why he was having that lingering apathy that had smothered him in his summer. He pushed aside all the negative thoughts and focussed on his friends. He caught up with their chatter and laughed with them at the right places.

Feeling quite filled and content a few minutes later, Harry made his way to the Gryffindor common room with his other Housemates, again without Ron and Hermione, since both of whom were charged with guiding the first-years to Gryffindor Tower. Harry had been shocked to spot a big, golden "P" on the front of Malfoy's robe and see him leading off the Slytherin newbies.

In the common room, Harry met everyone in his year more intimately, played Exploding Snap with them and some wizard chess with Ron. He made a point to show Hermione the dagger Sirius had given him as well. He thought that perhaps Hermione would somehow be able to decipher the strange markings on its smooth blade and hilt.

Hermione's eyes darted to the dagger in his hands twice before he rushed to finish off the sentence she was on (she was already busy with her schoolwork, preparing timeously for her O.W.L.s, and the academic year had not even officially started yet).

"Hm," she said quietly, as she squinted at the markings on its smooth surface within an inch of her face. "Well, they seem to be runes, but I don't think we've covered these types of them in class – they don't look familiar. I'm going to have to do some research in the library for this."

Harry had been afraid of that. Perhaps unreasonably and childishly he had hoped for an answer right away from her. He felt apprehensive at first at the thought of not having the gift his godfather had sent him, even for a short while, but rationalized that it was better to understand what the markings on the dagger meant. Ignorance, Harry had learnt, was never a good thing.

"Sure. Thanks," he replied.

Shortly after, the three of them went down to go visit Dobby in the kitchens before trooping down to the grounds to Hagrid's hut, but the half-giant was not there, which they found strange, as they, together with the rest of the school, had seen him only hours previously greeting the first-years and escorting them along the boat ride towards the castle.

"I'm telling you, he's shacking up with that Olympia giant," Ron said.

"Giantess," corrected Hermione, as they made their way back to the castle. "And her name is Olympe."

"Nah," said Ron, "that makes her sound better, but she isn't any. She could take down a tree without breaking a giant sweat and then she has the audacity to feel insulted by Hagrid? Remember that?"

Unfortunately the few hours that separated Harry from the following day were quickly spent, and in no time he found himself in a classroom. The first day went off without a hitch, as did the following days – provided one disregarded Professor Snape's escalated viciousness towards Harry and the Gryffindors. It became so bad that at one point instead of snickering as usual the Slytherins appeared to have something akin to pity for them.

It seemed no one knew what had gotten into their professor and prompted his new, invigorated spitefulness, which would sometimes, amazingly, make victims of even Snape's own House. However rarely this happened, the fact that it did in the first place was something to be said. Indeed Potions class was quite a tense and precarious affair of which no one was inclined to test the bounds.

As though Harry did not have enough to deal with, also high on Professor Trelawney's list of priorities was making his life miserable with her newly inspired and rather creative, long-winded and misty tales of his death. And these were coming with rapidly increasing succession.

"Beware the cliff that calls your fate, my dear boy! Beware the cliff! Despair in brief but resist the chasm that abounds! May your courage be stiff!" she shriekd one day in Divination class, pointing a trembling, gem-studded fingers. One could only take so much of hearing one's own death relayed to one so many times and in so many gruesome ways before it started affecting one, even though one knew it was utter bollocks.

It was thus with a dour mood that Harry approached the second week of school, already exhausted with the daily stress of having huge piles of homework to go through every night, since they were to write their O.W.L.s that year, Snape's unprecedented levels of sourness toward almost anybody, and having his death prophesied in almost every single Divination class he attended.

On a particularly splendid day the stress was enough to drive Harry to seek solace from the nice spot under the thick Sycamore tree that stood just next to the lake. Unfortunately, Hermione, buckling under the pressure of their merciless workload, wished to accompany him, and at this, Ron suddenly developed his own stress symptoms as well, and joined them. Along the way they somehow managed to pick up Luna, much to Harry and Ron's chagrin. How it happen Harry was not clear on. So the four of them, where it was initially meant to be just one, journeyed to Harry's favourite spot, and along the way, Harry suffered one more misfortune when he passed by Malfoy and his boulder-sized cronies.

Quite strangely Malfoy, and by extension Crabbe and Goyle, had never seriously bothered him since the very first day. Admittedly there were a few episodes here and there but it certainly never escalated to the previous years' levels. The ridicules did come, but in lesser numbers and in less intensity. Granted Malfoy's arrogance and his unshaking belief that he was superior to any other student never left him, but he was different somewhat: he was quiet and rarely attempted to bait him or insult Ron or Hermione. This new behaviour struck Harry as odd, but, of course, because it was Malfoy, he did not push the issue. He thought if something was keeping the boy down, then let it, and then some, just because he deserved it for simply being Malfoy.

As they lumbered past, Crabbe and Goyle took the liberty to push him and Ron threateningly, a fleeting gesture of their power, eliciting a smirk from Malfoy, who had not even called for this but had merely sauntered past wordlessly. Nothing further untoward happened to them, which was particularly due to Luna admonishing the two goons in her echoing voice, even though no caves were nearby.

Putting Malfoy and his gang out of mind, Harry, together with Ron, Hermione, and their beloved guest Luna, under a heavenly clear blue sky and with a few wisps of clouds, and rolling down shining grass that gave the surroundings a picturesque view, proceeded down the grounds to Harry's favourite shade under the large tree overlooking the lake. They reclined on the ground and on the bark of the tree, doing either homework, throwing things into the lake, or just talking nonsense (needless to say who spearheaded that particular discussion). Crookshanks was scuttling about on the edge of lake, tempting his fate each time he clawed its surface.

Harry was juggling his chat with Ron and Luna and studying the birthday present Hermione had gifted him. He was just browsing and had failed to see the point of publishing such a useless book, as he had yet to come across a spell that he could use practically – or advantageously, more precisely – particularly one that was defensive or perhaps even mildly malicious. But all he gleaned from the book was Teeth-Yellowing Charms, Spray-Painting Charms, Perforating Charms, and there was even one that made the target of the spell shake their bum as he would doing the funky chicken. The only thing the book satisfied was its title; it was rather _useless_. Honestly, he could not see why he would want to see someone shaking their bum.

_What about a bloke doing that, though?_

Harry grinned. _Now that would be funny._

He wondered if he could hex Malfoy with it, and immediately, a new liking for the book burgeoned. Yes, Malfoy shaking his bum on top of the Slytherin table in the Great Hall in front of the whole school… The embarrassment would shut him up until graduation. With new vigour, Harry turned a page and studied the book more intensely.

A few minutes later he was interrupted when Ron summoned him to his defence of the value of Quidditch against the girls. It was then that he was interrupted by a first-year Gryffindor boy who looked like he was trying his best not to stare at him and redden, and who wordlessly gave him a rolled parchment with an elegant, silver ribbon. Perplexed by this, and ignoring the eyebrows raised in his direction, as well as an encouraging smile from Luna, Harry took the letter warily and muttered his thanks at the boy. Before he had even finished thanking the boy he had turned tail and was a step short from breaking into a run in the opposite direction.

Ron was first to speak in the silence that fell. "Well, he's no doubt a Gryffindor. By Merlin, a love le-" Harry whipped his head round and glared at him, whereupon Ron cut himself off and held his hands up in resignation.

"We don't even know what it is yet!" Harry indignantly told his presumptuous, freckled friend, unnecessarily reddening in his cheeks.

Luna, on the other hand, cooed dreamily, "That's so sweet!"

Harry heatedly ripped off the ribbon in answer to her preposterous insinuations. He hoped his friends did not think or suspect he swung that way because Merlin knew he did not.

The parchment was quite simple and a touch rich, giving a modest impression, and Harry unfurled it to read the message therein:

_Mr Potter,_

_Please be so kind as to report to my office as soon as you finish dinner tonight. I apologize for any inconveniences and for those of the current mode of notice._

_For the entrance – I squeeze a few of them onto my fish and chips!_

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

For several moments Harry frowned at the small note, floored, his mind working rapidly. What did Dumbledore want with him? And more strangely, why was he sending messages with first-year blushing Gryffindors? Yet another strange thing happening at the start of the year was Dumbledore's curious absence on most mornings: sometimes he could not be seen at the High Table for days on end. Harry wondered where the headmaster was going. He surmised Dumbledore was probably doing damage control at the Ministry – that is, if Fudge even let him through the doors – or perhaps fending Voldemort off before he could do damage to vulnerable areas in Wizarding or even Muggle Britain. Harry could find out tonight, if he could conjure enough nerve to ask the question.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"It's from Dumbledore," Harry replied, and handed the parchment to them. He was most surprised to see Hermione frown and turn the parchment over and back again, only to see that it was blank on both sides.

"Harry, it's blank," Ron said, puzzled.

"It probably has a script-concealing charm on it," Hermione pointed out, with contracted eyebrows. With the air of someone already defeated she drew out her wand and all watched keenly as she muttered, "_Scriptus Revelum_," and then, "_Aparecium_," but nothing happened on both turns. It seemed to Harry that she had anticipated this. "Well, of course it wouldn't work. Dumbledore probably put a more complicated spell or possibly, spells, on it. I knew it wouldn't be that simple – it's Dumbledore," she said, as though the man's name explained everything.

"Shouldn't expect anything less, with brains like his," Ron remarked proudly, about his favourite hero.

Harry, who thought Ron was showing his patented lack of tact yet again, conversely sympathized with Hermione for her inability to solve a problem, as he suspected she usually took this personally. He reached for the parchment to draw it away from her, if her deepening frown was anything to go by, and when his fingers made contact with the parchment again, the inked letters reappeared.

Hermione's frown cleared. "Oh you have to touch it, Harry, to reveal the message. Figures."

She looked somewhat pacified after that, so Harry made to pocket it again but Luna requested to see it for whatever reason. Harry did not bother to question her but gave it to her readily, only to keep her from setting off as she did on Crabbe and Goyle. As soon as she touched the parchment it instantly ignited and fell in her hands and to the ground in ashes. Crookshanks, who had streamed over to them as soon as her lamp-like eyes spied the messenger boy, jumped back and hissed accusingly at Luna, who did not seem startled whatsoever. If anything, the exploding letter made her eyes glaze over even more brightly.

Hermione turned to Harry after witnessing the auto-incineration. "Harry, this probably means that this meeting is top-secret and very important," she intoned, almost in chastisement.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, probably, but I have so much homework." He knew he was riding his luck but was amused to notice that Hermione looked torn by his words: the apparent importance of this meeting and the _certain_ importance of doing homework were warring against each other in her head. But a smile broke out on Harry's face as her expression eventually turned into a scowl, to exasperation, and then to an amused shake of her head.

"Fine, Harry, I guess I could lend you my notes."

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry said, his face breaking into a broad grin.

Beside her, Ron looked scandalized. She ignored his spluttering and beseeching for similar favours, however, taking to pet Crookshanks, at whom Ron now glared, looking grossly underappreciated.

The following hours found Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the Great Hall enjoying their dinner along with the rest of the school. Harry dug into his shepherd's pie whilst Ron shovelled chicken wings and some tart into his mouth indiscriminately.

"Food is like a blowjob," Ron told them around a full mouth, while Hermione's eyes bulged and Nearly Headless Nick's silvery orbs narrowed cluelessly. "It doesn't matter if the person is a boy or girl – a mouth is a mouth – it has no face, it has no gender. Food is food whether it's sweet or salty."

Harry grew red and wondered if his friends were still suspicious of his orientation after the episode of the small Gryffindor boy who delivered Dumbledore's letter to him. His stomach flipped when Ron winked at him with cheeks bulging with… food and nothing else... Harry grimaced back excitedly.

Harry was feeling apprehensive as well as excited about the meeting with Dumbledore tonight. He wondered what the headmaster wished to discuss with him that was so significant that the letter had to be sent by a random student, have a spell that would ensure the message would appear only at his touch, and to self-detonate afterwards, or at least if Luna Lovegood touched it. Whatever it was it gave him butterflies in his stomach. Somehow dinner suddenly seemed indecisive of its procession, going back and forth; it felt at moments too long and at others too short. What was certain to him was that this meeting was not anything good; nothing coming out of that office was ever good.

Nevertheless Harry steeled himself, marshalling positive thoughts to course his mind instead of the negative ones that were going to leave him tense and discouraged. He kept trying to catch Dumbledore's eyes for a clue but got nothing for his efforts except a twinkling blue glance over half-moon glasses that revealed nothing. Harry tried to return the gesture with a smile, but between his cringing stomach, forcing himself to eat for eating's sake and his swirling thoughts, it probably turned out to look no less uglier and nervous than the constipated grimace he had given Ron.

After coming up to Gryffindor Tower in an agitated and tense mood to settle his affairs – which included giving Hermione his Transfiguration essay on Trans-species Transfiguration and grinning smugly at Ron's indignant scowl – he journeyed to Dumbledore's office still in his school cloak over his Muggle clothes; it turned out to be a little chilly outside. Not long before long, unfortunately for him, he was standing before the gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office.

"Lemon Drops," he said firmly, remembering the cryptic clue Dumbledore had provided in the letter, and he swiped at his thighs to dry his sweating hands.

"Come in!" trilled a soft, muffled voice from beyond the large oaken doors after he rapped on them, having ascended the spiralling staircase. Harry took in a deep, bracing breath and opened the door.

"Ah, Harry my boy, good to see you!" sang Dumbledore, as though the sight of Harry was the highlight of his day. "May I entice you to a Mint Toffee?"

"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore," Harry said, with a mixture of cautious cheer and apprehension.

The room was just as bright, welcoming, and cluttered as always. Various paraphernalia lay scattered on many surfaces, the numerous portraits looked down on him with a host of mixed expressions on their painted faces, some less welcoming than others (and Harry had seen a few of them frowning disapprovingly at Dumbledore for his overenthusiastic reaction), and Fawkes was perched regally on his wrought platform in his scarlet and golden glory.

He accepted the proffered Mint Toffees and, out of sheer nerves, popped five of them in his mouth at once.

"How has your term been thus far?" Dumbledore asked conversationally, beaming up at Harry.

Harry thought back to all the hell that characterized his school life thus far and could not decide where to begin.

"It could have been better," he answered finally, with a rueful smile, choosing to be vague and as brusque as possible: he was getting lockjaw from chewing a mouthful of Mint Toffees.

Dumbledore smiled warmly at him and his eyes twinkled. However, the smile slowly fell, the beaming expression fizzled out, and the last trace of the light in his eyes vanished altogether. "Very well. I think it's best we get to why you're here tonight before time makes fools of us."

Harry's insides turned cold at this. "Is this about Sirius?" he blurted out. _Has he been caught? Is he all right? Is he alive?_

"Yes, exactly what has my great-great-grandson been up to after his escape?" asked a sly voice from above. "I have seen him at Grimmauld Place not once."

"Thank you, Phineas," said Dumbledore dismissively without looking at the portrait, thereby missing Phineas Nigellus' dignified but clearly affronted sniff. Dumbledore livened, his lingering, wan smile broadening. "No, Harry. I believe Sirius is quite fine at the moment. However, there are other very important issues that we need to deal with."

Dumbledore paused, and then continued, "Harry, since the resurrection of Voldemort, there has been increasing tension amongst all. We have reason to believe that Voldemort is preparing to launch an attack very soon. He has been delighting absentmindedly in several wanton skirmishes. This may serve as a message to inform everyone that he certainly is back and is to be feared once again."

Dumbledore gazed back at Harry with a piercing stare, as though through his eyes he wished to communicate the sheer gravity of the situation. Harry lost some colour in his face and his heart began hammering against his chest, a familiar dread encompassing him once more. Voldemort striking soon should have been expected. He forced himself to listen to Dumbledore speaking.

"We have to begin to prepare for open warfare as soon as possible, and this means primarily preparing you, Harry."

Amongst the sharpening of ears of the portraits above them Harry found his hands getting clammy again.

"How do you mean?" he managed to croak.

Dumbledore eyed him steadily, a touch of commiseration and apology in his eyes. Then he leant back in his tall-back chair and touched his fingertips together.

"I mean, you have to be trained for war, we have to minimize your vulnerabilities and educate you on your enemy so you know how best to tackle him."

He was going to become a soldier. He was going to be trained for war, a war that he had to lead, and to finish. This was it. He had known this would come one day after seeing Voldemort reborn, it had been a permanent cloud at the back of his head – a lingering, morbid eventuality that attacked him unawares – in his sleep, in his thoughts, everywhere. And what accompanied that knowledge was the impotent rage deriving from the fact that he was targeted by the whole of the Wizarding world for this, that his purpose was defined by others when he became the Boy Who Lived, that everyone around him expected him to do this. He could not speak through the sheer overwhelming thoughts flitting through his mind as he relived those familiar grey feelings, distinctly the thought of the moment when Voldemort rose again. He thought Dumbledore was speaking again...

"I have thus arranged for us to meet in my office twice on the weekends since you will be occupied with your schoolwork on weekdays."

Harry nodded absently, somewhat registering the words.

Dumbledore's eyes grew duller, their twinkle absent, and in front of Harry he seemed to assume and look every digit of his age.

"Harry, this is to prepare you for what is to come. Do you think you can make those times or should we reschedule?"

Harry slowly shook his head. "The weekend is fine, sir," he said, wincing at how his voice broke slightly. He paused to collect himself and then said more firmly, "I can make it."

Dumbledore gave him a small smile. "Then it's settled." His expression sobered, the lines of his face making it seem brittle and forced. "Furthermore, there's one detail we should to discuss."

Harry forced to regain control of his breathing. He gazed back steadily at the headmaster . "Yes, Professor?"

Dumbledore seemed to hesitate for a moment before he spoke. "I said you will learn more about your enemy," he began, while Fawkes flustered about strangely on his perch. "This is not compulsory. However, I feel that it is time I repent from my mistakes, an old man's grave mistakes, Harry… and to finally enlighten you on some of the questions you asked me in your first year here." Dumbledore looked down, his face crestfallen and unusually contrite, and his hands spread out on the smooth oak of his desk.

"Really. I don't understand, Dumbledore, why you have to answer to such bedraggled and clearly insolent… students." It could not have been clearer that Phineas Nigellus Black had had a far less polite term in mind. "'The weekend is fine,' as if you're entitled to a choice. Headmaster or no headmaster, I would never have allowed such-"

"That will do, Phineas," warned Dumbledore a little more sternly.

Ignoring Black, Harry thought he had never seen Dumbledore act like this, and it scared him. It scared him more than what Dumbledore had to say. Why was Dumbledore saying things like that? What was going on? What had suddenly happened? Suddenly changed? Could he not just reverse what had just happened between the two of them and go back to the Gryffindor common room with nothing to worry about? No: Dumbledore's words penetrated him to the bone. Surely Dumbledore did not make mistakes. He only realized now how childish the thought was. But who cared? His headmaster – the only man Voldemort feared, one of the most powerful wizards alive, if not the greatest – was talking in parables and acting strangely. It was deeply unsettling.

"Yes, sir," was all Harry could say – his throat had suddenly turned to sawdust. Trepidation blossomed inside him for what would follow from now on, whether in here or out there where Voldemort was. He would find out exactly what the process would entail on the weekend, four days from today. He swallowed thickly and tried to calm himself.

Dumbledore smiled back at him, but the smile did not reach his eyes, which were now tainted with emotions Harry could not read.

"Very well, Harry." Dumbledore then cleared his throat delicately. "Now, I have homework for you." Seeing the suddenly bemused expression on Harry's face, he continued, "I would like for you to start meditating, every night, before you sleep. Clear your mind of all thought and concentrate on nothing. Sit still, do not move, but leave your mind blank. You will need this for some of our lessons to come."

This caught Harry off guard. He said shortly, "Yes, Professor."

He could not fully dwell on the peculiarity of Dumbledore's latest request – his mind was still reeling from Dumbledore's odd behaviour and being told about the lessons, preparing for war, and especially about 'mistakes' that Dumbledore had made in the past. Of all that Dumbledore had told him, what threw him off the most was these 'mistakes' and his strange demeanour when he confessed this. For it was hard to attribute anything unsavoury to Dumbledore; Harry loved his man and trusted him absolutely. He thought the world of him.

He vaguely registered Fawkes giving a brief, melodious trill.

Minutes ago he had entered this office feeling relatively peaceful, light, and content, with no problems and only paltry complaints such as overbearing homework or Professor Snape's treatment of him. Now he would be leaving this office with a mind a few worries heavier.

Dumbledore smiled again. "Excellent. I hope I haven't wasted too much of your time. You best be off to your House. If there's anything you wished to ask me...?"

Harry thought about it for a moment, restraining himself just barely before automatically uttering, 'No, sir'. He had so many questions to ask, and he thought Dumbledore knew this. Perhaps the man had asked him this just to be polite, as he always was. Or perhaps he was manipulatively relying on Harry to answer instinctively 'No, sir' so that he would not have to answer anything. Perhaps that could partly explain that brief brittle aura about him that Harry saw a few moments earlier. Nevertheless he did not want to find that out, not just yet, if there was anything to find out.

"No, sir."

Dumbledore nodded. "I will see you on Saturday at eight o'clock in the morning for our first lesson. Have a good night, Harry. You're welcome to some more Mint Toffees..." Again, he held out the bowl to Harry with an amused smile on his face, which somehow did not fit his face as well as it always did... Harry smiled back as he stood up and took more of the proffered sweets, never wanting to disappoint his mentor – and curiously – especially tonight.

"Thanks, sir. Goodnight."

Harry stepped out of the office, his mind dancing with thoughts competing for attention as he made his way into the corridor and up to Gryffindor Tower, all along trying, and failing, to keep them at bay. This explained why he did not notice Dumbledore slipping out of from behind the gargoyle guarding his office and turning to go down a separate hallway.

What was that all about? What would these new lessons entail? What would he be learning? How would he be "prepared"? Harry idly hugged himself tighter as he passed a shadow he thought to be the moon blocked by a statue, and continued hurriedly to the portrait of the Fat Lady in Gryffindor Tower as the chilly breeze still persisted.

Before Harry could even set a foot down into the common room, two blurs of hair came flying at him.

"So? What did Dumbledore say?" Hermione whispered frantically, eyes widened in anticipation whizzing back and forth between his own. Ron nodded vigorously beside her.

"Can I at least sit down first?" Harry said warily, a little amusement creeping into his voice, which he welcomed after being clouded by his depressing musings after leaving Dumbledore's office.

Initially Ron and Hermione looked bewildered as though Harry had just spoken Gobbledegook, but then they flustered about and pushed him towards the couches around the fireplace. Harry settled himself into the plush, scarlet couch and attempted to compose his words and thoughts as he stared into the cackling fire.

His two friends sat expectantly opposite him, leaning forward so far out of their seats they were providing irresistible temptation to gravity. Evidently a letter bearing a superior Script-Concealment Charm had piqued Hermione immensely, and that it had ignited upon Luna Lovegood also fixated Ron. Harry could not help but notice they were sitting rather closely to each other.

Before starting Harry exhaled slowly. "Dumbledore said that..." he began, but he could not help a grin touching his lips when Ron's hand shot out to an adjacent couch to brace himself before falling off his seat after both he and Hermione had leant further forward out of their seats as soon as he started speaking. However, his amusement was short-lived. "I have to prepare for the war that's coming."

It was clearly it was not what his friends had expected to hear from him: Ron looked comically confused, and Hermione similarly flummoxed.

"'Prepare for war?'" Hermione asked, her voice bearing an undercurrent of polite scepticism betraying her disbelief that Dumbledore found it proper for Harry, a mere peer of her own, to be trained for war.

Harry nodded solemnly before he lowered his voice so the surrounding students could not hear. "Since Voldemort-" Ron and Hermione flinched. "-has come back to life I have to start to prepare for when I meet him again. And judging by the current trend, I think that meeting might not be that far off."

Both of his friends looked visibly shaken: Ron's eyes were bulged impossibly out of their sockets, and Hermione's face had gone a few shades paler. There was silence for a moment in which they absorbed what he was saying. Harry thought it was remarkable that they had not even met Voldemort and yet such fear emanated from them. But he had, he had seen him three times thus far, seen the horrors of which the man was capable, and he could not react like them, not with so much fear.

If Harry were truly honest with himself he would admit that if he thought too long on it, he knew he secretly feared Voldemort, and he did fear to die; it was only human to do so. But this fear was vastly eclipsed by the intense hatred and fury he had for that pale face with the red slit eyes. How he seethed upon thinking about him. A fierce culmination of vengeance, unmitigated rage, and overwhelming fury seemed to smother that fear he harboured for the man, but not vanquish it completely.

In the deepest recesses of his mind, he knew he was looking forward to meeting with Voldemort again face to face to do what he wanted to ever since he learnt that it was he who was responsible for his parents' death, and especially – he was ashamed to admit – after he killed Cedric as well, right in front of him. He hated Voldemort for making him an orphan, hated him for tainting his innocence by making him bear witness to death, and hated him for threatening the lives of everyone he loved. Only Merlin knew how desperately he wanted to rip his reincarnated flesh from piece to piece with his bare hands and…

"Harry?" came a tentative query.

Harry snapped out of his raging thoughts to see the tongues of the fire in the hearth and the candles in the common room flickering and their fiery tips leaning towards him, Hermione's quill and parchments vibrating on the round desk, his own robes fluttering as though there was a breeze, and finally, his friends' bewildered and worried faces.

One of them turned awed and impressed.

"Merlin's toenails!" Ron exclaimed, wonder evident in his voice and glittering in his eyes as he gaped at Harry.

"Ron!" Hermione admonished sharply with a stern glare, as though communicating through her eyes, whereupon Ron seemed to understand and accordingly contained himself. Harry wondered when this had started to happen as he watched a doleful Ron sulking but with a trace of admiration still lingering in his face.

What just happened to him? Perhaps it was that raw magic thing he accidentally used to do when he was young, throwing tantrums.

"Harry," Hermione chastised softly, "you need to control yourself." She looked around at the common room indicatively at the curious glances coming their way.

"Sorry," Harry murmured.

Hermione nodded sympathetically. Then she asked, "So Dumbledore told you you're going to be prepared for war? How so?"

"I don't know," Harry confessed, and petted Crookshanks after she jumped onto his lap, whereupon Ron's face made a complete turnaround, morphing from amazed-looking to a haunted scowl. "He's going to start teaching me on Saturdays and Sundays from now on." He failed to tell them of Dumbledore's strangeness in that meeting.

Hermione's and Ron's eyes widened to the size of their elfish counterparts.

"Dumbledore is going to teach you himself?" Ron asked loudly, as though it was a huge honour to be taught by Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. Harry, belatedly, had an inkling it was, and a trifle of pride sprouted within him. Hermione's face now looked tinged with a little green instead of the stark pallor it had previously worn; Harry observed that jealousy did not look good on her.

"What is he going to teach you?" asked Hermione, and Harry could swear she almost spat out her words.

"He wasn't specific," he answered her cautiously. "He just said that I need to be trained for war, minimize my vulnerabilities, and be educated on my enemy."

Ron sat back in his chair with a mixed expression. Hermione, on the other hand, had a calculating, thoughtful frown on her face and stayed silent for a while. Harry studied the fire as it cackled and licked the air, a few sparks falling into the logs. He idly wondered when Sirius would fire-call him...

"'Trained for war' – that could mean you'll be taught advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts, possibly. 'Minimize your vulnerabilities' – maybe shutting down the connection Voldemort has to your mind or something else. Perhaps improve your eyesight?"

Harry tried to remain not affronted while Ron disguised a snicker under a cough.

"And 'educate you on your enemy,'" Hermione went on. "Perhaps he'll teach you about You-Know-Who's own weaknesses, if he has any, so you can capitalize on them."

Harry once again found himself awed by Hermione's shrewdness and thought how lucky he was to be her friend.

"I think you're right about the shutting off my connection with him: Dumbledore said I should try every night to clear my mind before I go to sleep – meditate, sort of."

Hermione's eyes went round again and understanding dawned on her face. "He's going to be teaching you Occlumency, Harry!"

"Oh yeah," Ron said, wearing a sheepish expression, as though he had been thinking of it.

"What's that?" Harry asked.

Hermione's features morphed into an expression by which Harry knew he was going to receive a lecture. He braced himself.

Hermione explained Occlumency and Legilimency to him. At the end of it his jaw was resting at the bottom of the fireplace: he was amazed at this. You could read people's minds? There was so much he did not know about magic. Curse the Dursleys, he thought.

Ron, doing his utmost best to ignore Crookshanks, was nodding at him knowingly as though he had said all of this.

"Occlumency – occlude – block," said Hermione. "Legilimency – legible – read." Her smile broadened as Harry's eyes swelled even further in comprehension. In a darker voice Hermione went on, "Dumbledore's probably going to teach you Occlumency so you can block out You-Know-Who from your mind."

Harry was puzzled by this. "But why block him out if I can see what he does through the connection so that I can tell again who else Voldemort captured or killed or whatever he's planning?" he asked. Crookshanks jumped off his lap and whizzed away with his bottlebrush tail erect in salutation. Ron looked relieved.

"Maybe…" she began slowly, thinking as she said it, it seemed. Harry had an inkling she was remembering the time he told her and Ron about the vision he had in which Voldemort and Wormtail kill a Muggle in an abandoned house. "…maybe Dumbledore suspects that You-Know-Who can somehow manipulate the connection he has with you, so that what you see isn't real and tricks you into going somewhere to save someone like how you would normally tend to do, and get yourself killed in the process," she finished, in a chastising tone.

Harry rustled at the reference to his apparent 'hero-complex,' as Hermione dubbed it.

"Probably," he said meekly.

Ron shuddered deeply at the thought of having to share a mind with You-Know-Who. "That's good an' all, mates, but... blimey, Harry, how did you do that?" It seemed Ron was still taken by Harry's burst of raw magic a few threads of dialogue back.

Hermione looked offended she was referred to as a 'mate,' judging by the slight pursing of her lips and the disapproving sideway glance she shot at Ron.

"I was just angry, thinking about Voldemort and what he has done," he replied flatly. He was also secretly amazed he could still do that at his age, and it left him feeling distinctly less mature.

Ron's look of awe remained. He made to say something but held himself after one look from Hermione.

"Well, Harry, at least you'll be in good hands with Dumbledore. I mean, who else would you rather be taught by?" she said.

The tinge of green flickered back in her face for a few seconds but went away again, replaced by anxiety and worry.

"This means that the war is about to start in earnest. He's back."

She jumped up and started pacing a trench in front of the fire, the golden light making her hair glow and giving her a fierce look.

"Harry, we also have to start preparing ourselves," she whispered finally, after Harry counted her pacing eight steps. He looked up at her uncertainly as did Ron. She continued her silent pacing.

"What do you mean 'preparing ourselves'?" asked Ron warily, never one desiring to be acquainted with work.

"I mean, Ron-" She glared at him finally, her blazing mane and the fireplace backdrop accentuating her fierce aura. "-we have to start some sort of club or something where we can come together and practice defence. Harry," she said, turning to him with a pleading look, "maybe you can teach us what Dumbledore teaches you in his lessons."

"Er—er—of course, yeah, sure," Harry agreed uncertainly, wanting to reassure her. But what if he was not going to be taught advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts? These were only assumptions, albeit astute ones but assumptions nonetheless.

Hermione nodded and started pacing as she worried her lower lip and tapped her fingers on her shoulder. "Yes, we assemble some people who care about fighting this war and defending themselves and the people they care about, meet in an abandoned classroom – maybe once a week – and train there so that we also can be prepared for this war." She looked like she was trying to be strong, but Harry suspected she, too, was scared under that determined veneer. The darkest wizard of the century had returned to full power and was looming in the unknown but would soon present himself openly. It was only a matter of time.

"We'll do it, Hermione," he said firmly, wanting to brace his friend and be strong for all of them; he felt like he owed them that.

Ron nodded alongside him. "Yeah, Hermione, let's do this... defence club thing, now that everyone knows that You-Know-Who's back."

Hermione nodded as well. "We'll get through this, we have to." Her eyes lost focus for a few seconds. "I need to work out the logistics of this meeting thing and get things started and organized," she said quietly, almost as an aside. "Excuse me." She returned to her place on the couch and started finishing off her homework.

Harry remembered that he had not even started on his work yet. Suddenly, he felt exhausted and miserable. He grabbed on a lifesaver. "Hermione, you said I could use your notes..." Before he even finished his sentence, she slid a few pieces of parchment from under her work towards him without stopping on the sentence she was writing. Harry grinned. "Thanks," he said, but he was given a dismissive wave of her hand.

Ron grumbled indignantly under his breath as he watched Harry claim the footnoted notes and went to do his own homework. But he was immediately distracted – and a look of tremendous relief crossed his face – by Seamus and Dean after they came over to them. They started an animated conversation about the toys they enjoyed over their summer from his twin brothers' joke shop, Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes.

Seamus shared, "Me batty aunt came over to visit and this time around it was a good thing she brought that funny cat of hers. It found one of me Explosive Éclairs in the sofa and they both left the house the same day with half the fur they came in with! Aunt Mavis looks loads younger now! And she's engaged now, if you can believe it!"

The topic then invariably drew to Quidditch, which Harry dredged up the courage to join after shooting a wary glance at Hermione, whose eyebrows were tightly knitted together in disapproval while her quill skated so feverishly over her parchment that her table trembled.

It soon became apparent that it was not only Harry, love Quidditch though he may, who had a few complaints about the gruelling training sessions which had started in earnest even though the Quidditch season was a comfortably long way off. Angelina Johnson, it seemed, was taking no chances and looked to follow in the footsteps of her predecessor, or at least attempt to (Oliver Wood's merciless training regime and enthusiasm was a force to be reckoned with and by no means easily matched or, more ambitiously, surmounted).

"You'd think we were vying for the World Cup," Seamus said, casting a mixed glance of irritation and admiration at Angelina bent over her homework, her dark, long braids flowing over the back of her chair and quivering slightly in step with her scribbling quill.

"Maybe she's scared we'll become the Hogwarts Chudley Cannons with her and she'll send us to the relegation zone," suggested Dean, who had his hand under his chin and who observed their subject with a touch of sympathy in his dark-brown eyes.

"Oliver would suffer a stroke just hearing you say that if he were still captain," Harry warned quickly, over the angry reddening of Ron's cheeks.

Good things come to an end, and when Dean and Seamus finally slipped off, Ron and Harry were left to return to their blanks parchments, and Harry found his concentration absent and in its place was seductive sleepiness. And seeing Hermione packing up her things loudly and pompously and sweeping off towards the girls' dormitory to her calling bed was hugely irritating.

Eyelids droopy, Ron and Harry turned to each other blankly. They shrugged simultaneously before stuffing their incomplete homework into their bags and heading for their own beds in the boys' dormitory after making sure Hermione was out of sight.

Before going to bed Harry tried meditation as Dumbledore had assigned him to do. He changed into his pyjamas and sat cross-legged on his bed. Trying to empty his mind as instructed, he soon found that it was much harder than it sounded, but a few minutes into it saw him being more aware of his own heartbeat and his even breathing, and a nice, thin patina of contentedness soothed him, something he had not experienced in a long time. It was only moments later that he met oblivion.

Back down in the common room, Sirius' face flickered into the flames of the hearth, and upon seeing the room empty, the crestfallen apparition vanished once again.


	3. The First Meeting

**Chapter 3**

**The First Meeting**

Ron and Harry negotiated their way down to the Great Hall the next morning under a sad grey sky through corridors lined with portraits housing occupants who, most irksomely to a sleepy Harry, were yet to wake, some even indulgently smacking their lips in their sleep.

"Sleep okay, Harry?" Ron asked, though the concerned frown wrinkling his brow suggested he already knew the answer to his own question: although Harry had cast a Silencing Charm on the drapes of his four-poster, it was not too hard for a dorm mate to peek around his bed and see an adjacent bed shaking slightly as its occupant thrashed in his sleep, unmistakably suffering nightmares.

Harry looked up with surprise. "Er, yeah, sure," he replied uneasily.

He was lying, of course. It was the same dream he had suffered through when he had been with the Dursleys: the night of the third task of the Triwizard Tournament – whisked away by a secret Portkey, green light, whooshing noise, Cedric's vacant handsome face, piercing daggers and blood, Voldemort reborn to terrorize once again, Death Eaters Apparating all around, burning heat in his hands, Priori Incantatem. It was evident that mere meditation was not enough to keep dark dreams at bay. Or perhaps it was only because he was just starting the regime. Perhaps it got better as he practiced it more often.

Ron nodded readily which suggested he suspected Harry of lying yet again, but if he did, he did not choose to intrude any further as they began chatting about easier issues on their way to the Great Hall, the doors of which they stepped through minutes later and went over to their House table.

Hermione looked up from her Ancient Runes textbook and smiled a little sadly as they approached.

"Morning," she said, in a wan voice, a far cry from her usual, bright lilt.

Harry and Ron murmured groggy greetings back, and the latter had filled his plate half-full already by the time the former had seated himself, which caused Hermione's lips to purse in disapproval. Ron's hands shot out every which way at the assortment of food. However, Hermione did not seem to have the energy to give Ron his daily admonishment about his table manners – she seemed distracted. This might have to do with the _Daily Prophet_ lying open in front of her which she had abandoned for her Ancient Runes textbook.

"What does the _Prophet_ say today?" idly asked Harry, who regarded the sensationalist articles they printed about him only distantly and who had gotten used to the slander. He had long ago decided to save his anger for some other worthy cause and tried to convince himself that he did not care what other people thought of him. This, however, did not make the renewed stares and mutterings that tended to follow the articles easier to deal with.

The tenuous smile that Hermione held vanished instantly at his words, and without saying a word she slid the paper next to his plate and turned her attention back to her textbook, her eyes darting between it and Harry's birthday present from Sirius. Harry vaguely acknowledged it amidst his severe misgivings about unfolding the paper. He merely stared at the seemingly innocent, yellowish publication. The _Daily Prophet_, Harry was of the opinion, was anything but innocent, despite the fact that Rita Skeeter no longer featured on its staff roll.

"Mei, mumu omen ne mummy maima?" urged Ron's muffled voice, which was due to his mouth being completely inundated with tart, pie and, strangely, eggs. Harry could discern all of those foods from the glimpse he had when Ron was talking. When Ron borne a curiosity about anything in a medium that required reading Harry did not know, but he decided to oblige him and turned to the front page of the _Daily Prophet_, which blared, 'AZKABAN MASS BREAKOUT'.

Harry read the article along with Ron, and when he got the bottom of it he still could not believe what he had read. Azkaban – broken out of – ten fugitives… He suspected most of them, if not all, to be Death Eaters. What was more, if that were true, then Voldemort really was gathering his forces and preparing for this war. It made it all the undeniable, real, and inevitable. He needed those lessons Dumbledore was going to teach him. They, the other students, needed the lessons as well.

Harry's eyes took in all the students in the Great Hall, a mixture of understanding and horror on his face. They need to get ready if they wanted to stand a chance. Tickling and Boggart-Banishing Spells were not going to do. This was war. Granted Mad-Eye Moody was giving them very practical lessons of his own, but Harry had to prepare for the most evil of evils, and Harry would bet his wand that Voldemort knew the Dark Arts from A to Z; indeed he needed more intense tuition.

It only truly dawned on him now after the article. Upon recalling Hermione's sombre face when he entered into the Hall with Ron, he thought she also understood the gravity of the reality. All of a sudden he saw things a little differently – perhaps in a dimmer light, or perhaps in a clearer one, he did not know. He just knew that things were going to be different now on.

He ventured a look at his headmaster and was surprised to find the familiar cerulean eyes boring fixedly into him the moment he sought them. There was no twinkle in those eyes, only aged lines around them, a tired expression on the old man's face. Seemingly, for the moment, he did look as old as he was. Harry averted his gaze to his food. He needed to get through these lessons if he dreamed of any semblance of survival. He needed Dumbledore and the Wizarding world needed him. Suddenly Saturday seemed too far; suddenly, he did not dread starting with the lessons. They needed to get moving, to put their defences in place.

Desperation was condensing in the back of his mind, and he did not like how it felt. Any moment from now on would be a moment lost. Now that he realized, there were so many vulnerabilities all around him: he loved too many people – deeply. He was only fifteen and already required to lead a war. And he had absolutely no thorough or adequate knowledge in defending himself from indiscriminately malevolent Death Eaters.

Harry's newly suspicious eyes shot to a pale, blond figure. Perhaps they had a rat in the house; perhaps Malfoy was plotting to let the Death Eaters in somehow and let them take over Hogwarts from the inside. Perhaps Voldemort was planning to conquer Hogwarts first.

Hogwarts – his only real home.

_Over my dead body._

"Hermione," Harry said, a determined glint in his eyes, "did you work out that defence club thing?"

Hermione straightened up in chair. She seemed to have been waiting for him to say something on this; she had an urgent air about her, and her expression was anxious though equally determined. "Yes, Harry, I was actually thinking about it whilst I was sleeping."

Ron paused eating to snort at her.

Hermione did not look at him. Harry thought she, just as he did, believed Ron did not taste the different air around them now, that he was completely oblivious to the state of urgency and dread in which he and she breathed. Hermione gave Ron a sombre look as though thinking if only she and Harry were as weightless and worry-free as him.

"I think we should approach Professor Dumbledore on this, Harry, before we do anything else."

Harry was quick to argue the point: "But you know he won't go for it, Hermione, he wouldn't want his students to be in any danger."

"We'll need some place safe and unknown, and I can only think of Dumbledore that can provide it for us," she countered. "We can go under false pretences and say that we want to start a social club or a reading club to help each other with the coming O.W.L. exams."

Ron grimaced through his bulging cheeks as though he were about to throw up. The mere suggestion of the false pretext of starting a reading club was upsetting to him in more ways than one.

Harry admittedly saw her point, but then something occurred to him.

"I can use the Marauder's Map to find a place," he suggested, feeling his spirits soaring a little.

Ron nodded vigorously.

Hermione wore a disapproving look for a moment, but it faded away; Harry's idea was too convenient to ignore. "That could work," she murmured, heartened. "Get somewhere far and with little traffic."

Harry nodded.

"I think I can find a way to inform the potential members of the club when and where we should meet. I might be able to charm an inconspicuous object like a coin to do something like that..." She trailed off in thoughtfulness, apparently her idea still unfolding in her mind.

Ron rolled his eyes.

Harry nodded. This was great. He could only hope that he was able to master what Dumbledore would teach him so he could transfer it to the participants in the pending defence club.

"We have to do this as soon as possible," Harry muttered to himself and Hermione, who noted his forlorn face, already sunken with the gravity of war.

"We will, Harry, we will," she assured him, with a fair attempt at a smile.

Ron finally grew enough tact to let go of his fork at last and pat Harry on the back encouragingly.

A few minutes later, the bell echoed across the Great Hall, and scraping chairs and clinking cutlery added to the din of elevated chatter as students hoisted their bags and marched reluctantly to the doors.

"Today," Snape began ominously, his black, pitiless eyes roaming disdainfully over the faces of the class, "we will be brewing a Healing Potion." His eyes gave the swiftest of flickers to Harry. "This will be one of the lesser medicinal potions, since none of you can be trusted to concoct anything less simple than your minds." He glowered disparagingly at the class, taking particular care to linger on Neville Longbottom, who slid lower in his seat, before continuing, "The instructions are in your books, the amendments on the board. You have an hour and fifteen minutes. Begin." After a sharp flick of his wand to the blackboard Snape whirled around in a flurry of black robes and descended bat-like into his study.

Harry went over to partner with Seamus, since Ron tended to sidle towards Hermione these days with a sheepish, uncertain look, at which Harry would usually gritted his teeth in irritation. If he wanted to work with Hermione then he should go right ahead; it was not an embarrassing crime and there were other people beside Hermione with whom Harry could work. He gave Seamus a smile in greeting, and they both plunged right into it.

It was less than a minute later, after Harry heard Hermione from three stations away whispering fiercely, "It says three leaves of Moore, Neville, not thirteen!" and while he brewed the potion with Seamus and talked about Quidditch and the next Hogsmeade weekend, that Harry noticed something strange as he idly surveyed the classroom: it appeared the Slytherins were giving Malfoy a wide berth – not counting Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy of course. He also noticed that Blaise Zabini was busy brewing his own potion with another Slytherin girl right between Malfoy's desk and the other Slytherins, as though he had positioned himself strategically there.

Harry frowned. He did not know what this meant. Malfoy was something akin to a leader of sorts, perhaps an accidental and very loud one but a leader nonetheless. So why would his own House alienate him as they seemed to at this moment? Why was Malfoy trying his level best not to show any emotion on his face as though he was oblivious to it all? Perhaps he had expected this...?

A soft but no less urgent nudge to his ribs pulled him back to his senses.

"Harry, stop stirring!" Seamus screeched, sounding panicked.

Harry immediately stopped stirring, a trickle of dread trickling down his spine, the simmering cauldron momentarily replaced by Snape's yellow-toothed self-satisfied smirk.

Seamus started breathing again. "Good," he sighed, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead before his wary eyes flicked to Snape. "Now stir the other way, mate, and don't think about wandering off again," Seamus warned with a small giggle, but Harry knew he was deadly serious.

An hour later the class was dismissed rather rudely by Snape, which was nothing new there. And even though he had spent most of the time in his study Gryffindor still managed to lose forty points that period mainly thanks to Neville, whom Hermione was now abusing – if implicitly – as they traversed the cold, dim corridor. But she quickly moved on before she could grow any less discreet.

"I wonder why he made us brew Healing Potions, now especially," Hermione remarked, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow below wilder-than-usual, mousy-brown hair after exposure to steaming cauldrons.

This had Harry thinking too. Could Snape also be preparing for war, on Dumbledore's orders, maybe? Perhaps the Healing Potions were going to be mass-produced. This spurred Harry's heartbeat. Damn this war.

Not wanting to darken the mood Harry alternatively asked, "Did you notice anything strange about the Slytherins today?"

Hermione's eyebrows knitted together. "Yes I did, actually. They seemed to stay away from Malfoy. I wonder why..."

"Serves him right, mate, I say," Ron said nastily, though he hardly seemed to understand the mystery any better than Hermione did.

Harry could not help but agree; in his opinion the ferret deserved everything he got. "And why was that Blaise Zabini bloke not joining in with the other Slytherins? Why did he stand right in the middle?"

"It might be that Malfoy stinks, maybe, or maybe he doesn't want to get involved in any of it. I never really got that bloke," Ron said.

"Yes, maybe he's trying to stay neutral or something; I never claimed to understand Slytherin politics, but I think it's probably a very delicate affair – a scale of power and influence probably tilting every second..."

Harry's and Ron's eyebrows rose simultaneously at her. Since when had Hermione become an expert in Slytherin politics, contrary to her disclaiming preamble?

"Probably," Harry said finally, sharing a half-glance with Ron, and he led the three of them to their next class, Transfiguration.

What was stranger and more alarming than Hermione's insight into Slytherin politics was what happened three days later.

On Friday, Harry, Ron and Hermione were to be found in the library after Hermione had practically dragged them in ranting and raving, Ron supplying the dubious excuse that he had been a secret sufferer of dust fever, and Harry claiming extra Quidditch practice. However, these excuses never reached Hermione's ears, and it was with pouting lips and fierce scowls that Ron and Harry were studying quietly at the back section of the library, Hermione sitting between them with her textbooks.

Then, out of nowhere, they heard forceful footsteps. The three of them and the neighbouring students looked up and heard Pince's sharp, shrill voice approaching a pitch which usually preceded the beginning of a diatribe, which never happened, however. Simultaneously they shimmied to the side and spied Pince with a look of utter astonishment on her long face, her bony hand clutching her chest as she gaped wordlessly at the sheer temerity of the student coming into her library so boisterously and now proceeding down the aisle, her sharp eyes popping behind horn-rimmed glasses.

A tall, brute seventh-year Slytherin boy (as if they made them any other way; half the House were trolls) came into view, flushed from either running or anger, though his diabolical glare going one Harry Potter's way swayed the odds towards the latter. Its target gulped.

_Isn't this bloke one of Slytherin's Beaters?_ Harry thought in alarm.

The boy suddenly lurched forward and Harry could not help flinching as the boy brought a hand down to him and thrust the rolled parchment in his face. Undoing the protective cage of his arms, Harry hesitated for a moment before he reached out for the parchment, hoping his hand was not shaking noticeably. Beside him, Ron was attempting a fierce glare at the boy but he still looked fearful. Hermione, on the other hand, was eyeing the boy down – even though she was seated – with a perfectly calm, unimpressed expression, a single raised eyebrow and her lips pressed together. She was quietly but clearly asking, 'What exactly was that entrance about?'

As soon as Harry's hand curved around the missive, the boy spun around and stomped out, hands clenched at his sides. The three of them followed his figure down the corridor and out of the library. For a moment Pince looked as though she had mastered herself again and was about to try dressing the boy down again, but she once more fell quiet and recoiled when the boy flipped her 'the bird' – a gesture of which she clearly fathomed little but all the same got the gist of. Clearly Muggle-born, Harry and Hermione observed.

"What's with him?" Ron asked with a little squeak, trying not to appear distinctly relieved that the boy had gone. Harry shrugged with forced calm and curiosity overcame as he minded the letter in his hand. He broke the magenta ribbon and read the message therein:

_Mr Potter,_

_Please meet me on the seventh floor opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and the Two Trolls at eight a.m. sharp._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Butterflies erupted in Harry's stomach. They were not even going to train in the comfortingly familiar environment of Dumbledore's office. He had not even been to the seventh floor before… Given he had a complete map of Hogwarts he was surely letting the Marauders down.

Every time Harry thought he fully appreciated the gravity of the situation something else came along, like this letter, and made him feel as though he were a little kid playing around, trying and failing to grasp the severity of the issues he faced. Something as mere as a change in venue made matters seem direr than ever. Evidently his friends were thinking along the same lines. They would have to grow up very quickly.

They drew back into their seats quietly, each contemplating their own thoughts. Then Hermione suddenly launched from her chair with a gasp, grey skirt aflutter.

"Harry! Maybe we can use this place for the defence club! You know, when you're not using it with Dumbledore!" she whispered excitedly.

After a rather frightened moment, a grin broke on Harry's face. "Yeah! That's a fantastic idea, Hermione!" She smiled back with a pink tinge to her cheeks.

"And I think I'm getting ahead with charming the Galleon," she continued, her eyes glowing feverishly as she slowly returned to her seat. "Harry, you should also try looking into that book that I gave you for your birthday – maybe it has some, er... useful-" This word was heavily muffled and spoken rapidly. "-spells we can... er… use..."

Harry could not help barking aloud in laughter. "Sure, Hermione, I'll make sure to find something useful in _Useless Magic_!"

Apart from the title being soundly self-defeating in itself Harry hardly thought there would be anything more defensively viable than a Sudden Starkers Spell he had once stumbled upon, and he did not think it would be sensible let alone effective to strip his enemy naked. Nevertheless, he made a mental note of keeping the book in his book bag.

"Keep your voice down," admonished Hermione, trying to save face, an abashed smile growing on her face.

Harry's amusement at her expense was soon cut short by a rather impressively precise jab of her elbow into his diaphragm that prompted a spluttering fit.

Ron, clearly trying not to show how unsettled he was by this repartee between Harry and Hermione he did not fully understand, asked over Hermione's once pleasant but now grating giggles, and Harry's downright irritating spluttering, "So why doesn't the letter burn up when Hermione and I touch it?"

Hermione's giggles stopped sharply, Ron looked glad to hear, and she and Harry sobered up.

"Well, maybe Dumbledore trusts us as Harry's friends," Hermione suggested.

Ron considered this for a while. He then stood up, grabbed the parchment – the words faded instantly – and with an air of someone wishing not to be bested strode over towards one of the girls sitting near them with her friend while Harry and Hermione watched him raptly from where they sat. He approached the plain looking girl, gave her a wide, goofy smile that fit effortlessly on his face and proffered her the letter.

The girl initially looked wary, then shy, and finally, after a long, unduly embarrassing time, the girl took the letter: at once she screamed shrilly as it instantly incinerated itself, flew backwards and landed into her friend, sending them both crashing to the floor. High, unmitigated laughter escaped Ron, Harry, and Hermione before they could stop themselves, and all eyes were upon them as they rolled on the floor together as friends in a heap of limbs, air-depleted lungs, and tears of mirth.

This time around Pince had no reservations about giving them an earful as she hauled them out of the library by their ears. They could not help but note she was using the pent-up diatribe from the incident of the rude messenger boy to fuel her. Kicked out from the library, they swept off with sufficiently contrite faces, but as soon as Pince slammed the doors shut in the corridor they erupted into laughter again.

However, waking up at eight o'clock in the morning the next day was not as amusing, at least for Harry, who could not fathom why Dumbledore decided to have a lesson so early in the bloody morning.

_It's a weekend, for bloody sake!' _

He groggily got out of bed, not feeling particularly rested; he had been anticipating this meeting the whole night and was now paying for it through his weariness. The meditation he dutifully went through before sleeping helped a little. Nevertheless Dumbledore would not be impressed if he yawned after every spell he shot. Moreover, Harry was going to be on an empty stomach since he woke too late to go down for breakfast – it was already fifteen past seven. He almost reasoned that Dumbledore should not expect much from him at eight o'clock on a Saturday, but he promptly berated himself: this was merely another Transfiguration or Potions lesson. People were dying and disappearing outside these walls while he complained. He sighed and went for the showers.

After performing his morning ablutions and getting dressed, he went down the stairs where he met Hermione reading quietly in one of the red, comfy couches, a merry fire burning above the hearth.

She heard him coming down the stairs and looked up. "Morning, Harry," she said brightly.

"Morning, Hermione."

Hermione's face turned abruptly beseeching. "Harry, you sure you can't convince him to teach us as well? It'll only be me and Ron."

She looked so hopeful. How could Harry turn her down? Surely Dumbledore would not allow them to join him because what he gathered from their talk four days ago was that this was mainly between him and Voldemort and it had nothing to do with his friends. He also did not fancy putting his friends in that very direct line of fire.

"Er, I don't know, Hermione. I think Dumbledore is going to concentrate a lot on me and Voldemort," he lamented telling her. He hoped she had not gotten up especially early just to accost and ask him this – it would make him feel horrible. Then again she was probably up by this time every Saturday, nose deep in her books.

Hermione looked conflicted for a moment, but then her countenance soon resolved. "I understand, Harry. Well, I guess, you should be on your way. Do you want me to escort you?" she asked quite levelly.

Harry felt awkward at this, and he shuffled so a bit on the stairs. "Er, no, it's fine, I can make my way there – my vision's not that bad!"

From her late and contrived smile Harry gathered his humour had not carried.

"All right. I'll continue to work on Sirius' dagger and the Galleon idea," she said. Harry thought she wanted to seem busy and occupied telling him about what she wanted to achieve this and had better things to do besides pleading to accompany him to Dumbledore. It made Harry feel guilty even more for putting out his friend like this, weighing her down with researching his birthday present and forming a way of communication between the potential members of their club.

"You know, you don't have to, er, do too much on those thing, you know," he muttered contritely.

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. Anything I can do to help. I was thinking of meeting the people who are interested on the coming Hogsmeade weekend in the Hog's Head, away from unwanted ears, 'cause – you know – The Three Broomsticks is usually full and rowdy."

Harry suspected another reason for Hermione preferring the Hog's Head over The Three Broomsticks, but he nodded and smiled at Hermione. "Excellent! I hope a good number turns out."

Hermione smiled back.

Harry cleared his throat. "Well, I—er, better get going," he said awkwardly. He slipped out through the portrait and started swiftly trotting up to the seventh floor, not bothering to take in the curious views encountered in his journey which he should have been doing if he aspired to know this expansive castle from the back of his hand, right down to the last alcove.

"Ah! Harry my boy!"

Harry could not find a time when he was so torn between cringing from that voice and feeling elated by the blatant happiness held in it, elicited only by his appearance, something which did not occur often.

"Morning, Professor Dumbledore," he said weakly.

"And a good morning to you too, Harry. Sleep well?" asked Dumbledore, clad in colourful, flowing robes of purple and golden stars.

Harry attempted to smile but it did not come out like one. "It was all right."

Dumbledore beamed. "Excellent. We should probably be onto our business." He then started whistling a classic tune (Harry knew Dumbledore enjoyed classic music and ten-pin bowling from the Chocolate Frog Cards he had collected of him) as he pace in front of a blank wall.

Harry frowned at his headmaster's actions sceptically, and he glanced behind him to see if anyone else was witness to the first signs of senility in the old man. Dumbledore was, however, absorbed in his activity, and then suddenly, after pacing three times in front of an empty stretch of wall, vertical and horizontal cracks started snaking quickly along the wall's smooth surfaces like rapidly growing and extremely behaving vines, forming a huge door that ground and crackled into being. Dumbledore beamed at Harry's swollen eyes.

"Convenient for when one finds oneself woefully far from a bathroom with an exceptionally full bladder," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling brightly.

It took Harry a moment to place the words, and upon remembering, he gasped, recalling them being said by this very same man last year at Christmas. He stared back at the door with wide, mouth agape. His ability of speech temporarily out of commission, he mutely followed Dumbledore inside. What he saw inside took his breath away.

The room was enormous, had a very high ceiling and ample space in the centre for duelling or whatever else in which they would engage. The upper parts of the walls were pure white, covered in mist, and the lower were dark brown, giving the impression of a ceiling-less, square amphitheatre.

"Yes, I think this will prove sufficient to our requirements; after all, it is called the Room of Requirement." The eyes twinkled merrily at him again, a bright smile curving his lips.

"The Room of Requirement," Harry intoned in wonderment, wheeling around on the spot as he gazed at the boundless ceiling.

"Yes, Harry, the Room of Requirement. It supplies what you require. While I was pacing about out there, completely missing a look on your face that questioned my sanity, I requested a room with ample space to stage our training, and this is what it offered. Ingenious, I must confess," the headmaster chuckled.

Harry could only nod quietly in agreement and blush.

Dumbledore cleared this throat, drawing Harry's attention back to him. "Well then, we should get things started. Harry, there will be people you're going to meet in a few moments. Some of them you will recognize, and some not. I have arranged with some of my colleagues to come here so they can impart their vast knowledge to you, Harry. I'm afraid I alone can only do so much myself; I am old man above all." Dumbledore chuckled again at his words.

There were going to be… "Other people?" Would not it be a closed thing, with only him and Dumbledore? Harry felt his hands getting sweaty and his heart trying to back up in a small corner of his chest, but it beat wildly in trepidation all the same.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, Harry, leaders in their field. I'm quite privileged to be able to call upon their expertise. Admittedly, I've taught most of them but they genuinely wished to lend a helping hand to an old man." Again, Dumbledore gave that strange chuckle that was beginning to worry Harry. Why was Dumbledore referring to his old age this year all of a sudden? Was he getting close to his time? Harry fervently hoped not. Dumbledore could not go now, not now, and he found that this wry chuckling was starting to grow more angering than infectious.

Dumbledore regarded Harry's pale face. "It's all right, Harry, you needn't be nervous. I know you'll impress them all, having surmounted things thus far many can scarcely imagine." Then, with a mischievous face, he whispered, "Besides, most of the experts that are to shortly arrive can't even cast a Patronus Charm." Dumbledore smiled liberally, his blue eyes twinkling once more, the overall effect momentarily lending him the look of an over-excitable toddler.

This at least managed to pacify Harry considerably; he could cast a Patronus Charm, easily.

_Yeah, I can do this_.

Just when he thought he had conjured enough confidence within himself Dumbledore swept to the door and opened it, allowing Harry a glimpse of robes shuffling about in the hallway – a sight that made his pulse surge again, defeating any notions of calm. Dumbledore seemed to have put together a panel of experts to train him. What if he failed? What if he could not master something and flopped, badly?

He could not afford to – his life depended on it, countless other lives depended on it. He could not let Dumbledore down, not when his mentor had so much faith in him.

Dumbledore led a small group of distinguished-looking people into the large room, and Harry's eyes darted from person to person. Dumbledore swept over to him and patted his shoulders.

"Everybody, I would like to introduce you to Harry Potter."

The introduction was unnecessary: before he spoke, there were already a littering of a few dropped jaws on the floor, which made Harry feel the same way he had felt when he had taken his maiden step into the Wizarding world.

He recognized Professor Lupin. "Morning, Harry," he greeted, with a warm smile.

Beside him was Mad-Eye Moody, who taught him DADA and who now grunted his greeting before he said to the witch beside him, "You should see his Shield Charm – best in the class!" The witch, her hair a strange neon blue colour, shook his hand.

"Wotcha, Harry!"

Professor Slughorn was next, a stumpy old man with a bald head, an ample belly dressed with a rich emerald velvet jacket lined with very shiny golden buttons, and short, stubby legs.

"Merlin, bless my soul…" he whispered, reverently shaking Harry's hand with both of his and staring at Harry with an awestruck expression after his small, beady eyes shot to his scar. Harry was most uncomfortable with Professor Slughorn.

Next was Kingsley Shacklebolt – a big, tall, dark-skinned man whose appearance looked formidably unshakeable. "Nice to finally meet you, Harry," he said, in a deep, slow, commanding voice. There was something about it that very comforting and fortifying.

Harry then gingerly shook the hand of Professor Strolm, who taught at Vaux University in Wiltshire. Puzzled that universities existed, he turned to Dumbledore, who raised a silver eyebrow and clarified things.

"Yes, Harry, there are indeed further education institutions in the Wizarding world as well. I believe, if I am not disastrously mistaken, that your friend, young Hermione Granger, is looking into that academic venture upon leaving school."

"That's news to me, sir," Harry said, most astonished to hear this. First he discovers there are actual universities – plural – in the Wizarding world, then that Hermione was apparently going to apply to one. Why had not she told Ron and him? Why was she keeping it secret? Was she not going to run for Minister of Magic or establish an anti-house-elf movement or something? And how on earth did she know there were Wizarding universities? Was she not Muggle-born like he was?

Dazedly he went through the last two people he did not know and greeted them politely. One was remarkably short-worded, "Good morning. You're Harry Potter. I am Professor Dalton. I see you for Charmery. You short. Very skinny. And your eyes bad. Tut, tut," while the other Harry was dismayed to find had an American accent: she had crossed an entire ocean to be here. Again Harry cast an anxious look over his shoulder to Dumbledore for an explanation, but Dumbledore was beginning to speak.

"Well then, now that we have cast the formalities aside, we can – please assist me in this, Harry – get the ball rolling?"

A strange giggle at complete odds with his nervousness about meeting such accomplished people escaped Harry, surprising him. Even though they were adults and fittingly more intelligent and skilled he still felt inadequate, a feeling with which he was intimately familiar.

"Yeah, you got it right, sir," he replied, grateful for the calming humour. He knew that unlike most thoroughbred wizards Dumbledore was not entirely ignorant about the Muggle world, as he lent from them on a couple of occasions a few of their idioms and maxims.

Dumbledore smiled broadly at him. "Excellent," he said, rubbing his hands together, furthering that image of a mischievous, much-younger person. "Harry, I would like for you to spend some time with each of the experts and to possibly demonstrate your magical repertoire thus far so that they can gauge your progress and plan your training accordingly."

Harry swallowed thickly. "Yes, sir," he said through a constricted throat. He felt like he was on a show to be viewed and judged.

"Wonderful! I'll be around if you need me." With a final smile, Dumbledore turned to converse with one of his affiliates after Transfiguring big, plush couches for everyone. Indeed it was an odd sight watching grownups plunking into them with faces of delight and appreciation for this demonstration of eccentricity, probably remembering their younger days with Dumbledore as their headmaster.

Harry barely registered all this when he was swooped off away from the rest of the crowd by eager, pudgy hands; Professor Slughorn was most eager to meet him. Turning his head towards the rest of the room in a final plea to someone to get him away from the man he caught a strange look and a firm nod from Dumbledore, purposely and intently directed at him. Before Harry could ponder on it a passionate question was fired at him from the plump professor in front of him.

About two hours later Harry had gone through every guest in the room, gave them the information they needed, and cast a few spells upon their request. On average, he had fared well, except for Transfiguration: the American woman, Professor Rickman, had given a most McGonagall-ish expression when he had failed to satisfactorily turn her raven crow into a pure-white dove.

At defence, contrarily, Harry could be highly proud, and he had shared a grin with Professor Lupin when the man had asked him in a loud voice that caught everyone's attention to perform the Patronus Charm. Harry had yelled confidently, "_Expecto Patronum!_" and a great silver stag had burst out of the end of his wand, charging at the air and galloping around the large room, followed by incredulous gasps, raised eyebrows, and a few assessing and impressed looks.

Shortly after Dumbledore had called the meeting to order and closed it off. Apparently, it was only a meet and greet – no official training had started.

Minutes later Harry was straggling back with Professor Lupin to talk while everyone was descending the drive towards the grounds of Hogwarts so they could Disapparate away at the gates, though Dumbledore had immediately taken the route leading to his office after giving him a proud wink.

"Sirius tells me you've been ignoring him," Lupin said mildly. He was looking just as prematurely aged as he always had – worn out lines wrinkling his face and a few more streaks of grey in his brown hair. His worn, frayed robes, together with the warm, curious look now settled on his face gave him the look of a sad though good-natured bum.

"Sirius thinks I'm ignoring him?" Harry said, stunned. "I haven't received a single letter from him since start of term," he said, feeling indignant, betrayed, and confused all at once.

More lines appeared on Lupin's brow. "He tells me he's been sending you letters ever since you came back from your relatives."

"Well, I haven't received any of his mail whatsoever, except for the birthday present he sent me."

"Yes but that was when you were with the Dursleys." Lupin paused for a thoughtful while. "Perhaps now that Voldemort is back Dumbledore might be intercepting your mail to check for any curses or traps."

That was possible, but Harry thought it sounded intrusive; he did not feel comfortable with somebody opening his mail, even if it was Professor Dumbledore. One thing he liked to treasure was his privacy – it was one of the few things he had.

"Maybe," he said curtly, his eyes wandering distantly, and he made a mental note to confront Dumbledore if indeed he had been intercepting and going through his mail.

They talked for a while longer. As the hour hand neared eleven o'clock Lupin announced that he had to get going, so Harry escorted him down the grounds towards the gate, whereupon he Disapparated and Harry was left to trudge back to Gryffindor Tower to divulge his exciting morning to his friends. But he first wanted to go to Dumbledore's office and travelled to the seventh floor.

He rapped twice on the large oaken doors of Dumbledore's office. No voice came. He knocked again, and again nothing happened. Harry frowned at the double doors. Was this a bad omen? Probably not, Dumbledore would come back. It was not a big deal. He knocked again, still not entirely convinced, but when no voice came through again he descended the spiral staircase and headed for Gryffindor Tower.

He felt conflicted: he really did not want to feel angry at Dumbledore after the man had been so great with easing his transition into this training programme. And it was Dumbledore: his stature and seeming omnipotence was comforting.

"Harry!" Harry heard Hermione's excited and yet anxious voice over the soft buzz of the common room as he entered. As she came over to him she slapped Ron several times on the shoulder to rouse him from his eleven-a.m. nap. When Ron seemed no closer to surfacing she huffed and took a seat next in the plush, scarlet couches in front of the nice and warm fireplace. Harry sat down and organized his thoughts for the imminent interrogation, gazing into the fireplace. He absent-mindedly pondered if Sirius ever appeared there before.

"Hey, how's it going, Harry?" slurred Ron sleepily.

"Honestly," Hermione muttered disdainfully, crossing her arms and tossing her hair regally. "So?" she said primly, pointedly ignoring Ron, "How was your first lesson?" Her frizzy hair seemed to vibrate in anticipation. The rest of her body had gone still as though she were made of ice – a known sign of her literary excitement.

There were quite a few students lingering in the red and gold common room, this being mainly due to the weekend. Some had gone to traipse the grounds or sit near the lake or chill on the benches around the castle. Some even spent their time in the library. Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown were talking in hushed tones in one corner, and judging by the eye-rolling, pursing lips, and dismissive hand gestures, they were clearly gossiping about somebody.

Where to begin?

_Oh yeah!_

"Why didn't you tell us you're going to apply to Vaux University?" Harry spat.

Hermione looked taken aback, jaw dropping and eyes growing a little wider. Beside her, Ron frowned and turned to her but looked far from surprised as this was what Hermione was naturally looking at. "I figured you'd be launching your Support the Elves campaign thing," Ron said.

Hermione ignored this. Her jaw worked for a few moments to form a reply to Harry's accusation fruitlessly. She then gathered herself, pursed her lips together defiantly, folded her arms and narrowed her eyes fiercely.

"Who told you that?" she hissed tersely, looking for all the world thoroughly violated as though Harry had just told her he had read her diary.

"This other bloke, Professor Strolm, I think," Harry replied calmly, his previous vehemence dying, survived by the comforting calmness afforded by being back in familiar surroundings with his friends.

Hermione's eyes went from narrow to bulging. "You saw Professor Strolm? _The_ Professor Strolm?"

"Er, yeah," Harry answered, a little thrown off by Hermione's enthusiasm.

There was a shivering pause before, "...What did he say?" shrieked Hermione, her gross excitement lifting her from her couch.

Harry thought they were going off track here. "Don't you want to know what happened in the meeting?" he asked a little cautiously, not knowing what Hermione's reaction would be if he did not discuss Professor Strolm's every physical feature and the details of his personality.

Dean and Seamus slipped in through the portrait hole, all chafed and windblown, Crookshanks bounding through a second later, bottlebrush tail in the air. They gave the trio wide grins in greeting. As soon as they were out sight Hermione cleared her face of any of its prior enthusiasm and primly clearing her throat, stroking Crookshanks, who purred in satisfaction.

"Of course. Tell us, Harry."

How neutral, Harry snorted in his mind.

Ron seemed piqued. "Yeah, mate, what happened?" he asked, as his excitement shook off his sluggishness from his daytime. It was then that he noticed the thing in Hermione's lap, and all traces of somnolence vanished as he resolutely turned his face towards Harry and stared at him with a look of dignified impassivity, which looked decidedly awkward – as Ron had very little about which to be dignified – and too rich for his face to handle.

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well," he began, "I met Dumbledore on the seventh floor in front of that portrait he told me about in the letter. Guys, it's the perfect room to hold this, er, defence club thing in!"

Hermione beamed, excitement singing all over her body, a huge contrast to her earlier disposition, a disparity which Harry could only attribute to her gender, together with never-ending giggling fits he had endured last year just before the Yule Ball.

"Great, Harry! So now we have a facility. I'm almost done with that Galleon messenger idea. So far I can only make the messages very simple but give me a few days and I will be able to put in numbers as well for the time we are to meet."

Both Harry and Ron nodded at her, impressed and elated by the development of this club. "That's brilliant, that, Hermione!" Ron said, seeming to have forgotten Crookshanks and giving Hermione a big smile that Harry thought was immoderate and carried too much meaning behind it.

"Yeah, that's fantastic, Hermione," Harry inserted, a little loudly.

Hermione flushed at all the praise. Undoubtedly seeking to kill the fire blazing in her cheeks she cleared her throat again, raked her fingers a little over-enthusiastically through Crookshanks' fur – who promptly departed and would not be missed by Ron – and flapped her hand at Harry, telling him to go on. Harry continued cluing them in on his meeting with Dumbledore and his experts.


	4. Marked by Destiny

**Chapter 4**

**Marked by Destiny**

It suddenly occurred to Harry that he was free for the afternoon.

"Ron," he said, with an ever-broadening grin, "fancy flying a few?"

Ron's face predictably lit up at this. He punched the air. "Yeah, mate!"

"Don't you two have some studying to do?" Hermione accused indignantly, frizzy hair aquiver.

Both boys faltered. They muttered rushed, pointless arguments before deciding to turn tail before her eyes bore right through their souls. Harry flew upstairs to grab his Firebolt, Ron hot on his heels, though no broom awaited him there. Afterwards it was time to face Hermione again. They took deep bracing breaths, looked each other in the eye, exchanging looks of encouragement, cleared their throats and marched stiffly from the dormitory to the portrait hole with their eyes fixed on it and nothing else, all the while Hermione's blazing glare keeping up with them.

Harry thought they would never get there.

However, the world had an ever-reliable tendency of slapping one back into reality and out of one's weird, unrealistic anxieties such as thinking the portrait hole was getting further and further away. They ducked out of it and ran to the broom shed, giggling triumphantly. Their usual evasive tactics for Hermione were more strategic than those which they had illustrated today. Nevertheless they had escaped her.

Harry continued ahead while Ron grabbed a rather-less-than-ordinary school-owned Shooting Star. They chatted about the moves they wanted to try out making their way to the pitch. But suddenly they caught a flash of platinum-blond hair. Ron's knuckles instantly turned white around his obsolete broom, and a scarlet scowl twisted his face. The muscle in Harry's neck jumped. They had expected to have the pitch to themselves.

Malfoy was seated in the third row of the bleachers to their left, as haughtily elegant as ever: arms and legs crossed regally, his pale face – now incredibly blank – still exuding a natural, arrogant confidence; his expensive robes draped all over his lithe form, and of course that distinctive white-blond hair hanging long and gracefully over his neck onto his back.

Harry and Ron stood there, unmoving for a few seconds before regaining their faculties. Refusing to turn around and let Malfoy spoil their flying afternoon by his mere presence they stomped ahead onto the field. As they appeared Malfoy turned his head lazily towards them, and his eyes subsequently went even duller as he watched their progress, as though they were unworthy of his complete attention. The Gryffindors scowled at him from the pitch. Harry finally let go of Ron's arm, which he had held in order to restrain his friend from going over to look for a fight with Malfoy. This had not stopped the Weasley from maintaining a colourful string of derogatory superlatives, slamming everything from Malfoy's parentage to his looks.

The air was sultry and still despite the little chilly breeze in the morning. The sun was bright and high, casting long shards through the hoops. Harry luxuriated in the atmosphere, trying to shake off his self-consciousness which derived from Malfoy's presence.

Neither he nor Ron had to be uneasy for long, however, because as soon as they blasted off the ground Malfoy got up and left the stadium in his famous swagger. Harry disliked it immensely. Disliked it because so many people tried to imitate it, hoping, he imagined, to derive some confidence from it or for whatever other reason. Nonetheless no one could get right in Harry's eyes! This frustrated him because he could not understand why it was becoming so popular! Of course no one would acknowledge they were trying to steal Malfoy's swagger.

It was quite the trend: hapless boys sauntering past attempting the almighty, irreproducible swagger of Draco Malfoy. It was just not possible. Theodore Nott was one of these chancers, Harry knew, even though he did not know the boy's name. But he has heard the boy being referred to as Swagger Bloke by the Slytherins, a consequence of being stuck with a Slytherin partner in Potions. Harry suspected self-esteem issues as he noticed Swagger Bloke was something of an underdog in his House, almost always ignored, at least in Potions whenever he tried to strike up a casual, even fleeting conversation with a House mate. Another reason why Harry hated Malfoy's swagger was that he actually _recognized_the fact that nobody could reproduce it. He would die before admitting to knowing any of this naturally, but in his mind attributing such reverence and talent to Malfoy was as repugnant as blaspheme.

Harry and Ron executed a few manoeuvres and raced around the goal posts until calling it quits at nearly two o'clock in the afternoon. Upon returning to the Gryffindor common room they braced themselves for their due tongue-lashing from one Hermione Granger on the subject of neglecting their academic commitments for fleeting whims such as _flying on broomsticks_. And since she and Harry were raised in the Muggle world Harry could suffer the derision behind this particular phrase more fully than Ron, who would merely react with mutinous mutterings that flying was a worthwhile past-time if one was considering playing for the Chudley Cannons upon graduation, vastly preferred over attending universities and sucking up to the Professor Strolms therein.

They buckled down to do their homework under Hermione's smouldering glare after they had received an earful, but fortunately no flying brooms were mentioned. Ron was dismayed to find he had a backlog of homework dating back two weeks, and Harry felt as though he had been sprung upon by a twelve-inch essay on Restorative Potions, as well as one for History of Magic asking him to compare two goblin wars, which two he did not know. Harry supposed he could not appeal for a assistance from Hermione now since he had no excuses. Deflated, he began on his schoolwork. Hermione shot him an approving glance when he grasped his eagle quill in his hands.

A few hours later Harry gave up and Ron followed quickly afterwards, as though he had been keeping an eye on Harry and waited for him to throw in the towel first just this before he did and appear more diligent in front of Hermione. She seemed content with the amount of time the both of them had spent on their homework, for she permitted them to play Exploding Snap and wizard chess.

Harry soon found himself getting tired and yawning, so he went to take a shower and then let sleep find him, too tired to do his meditation. Consequently his mind was more susceptible to wandering about. A stray thought prodded his mind as he lay in his covers: why had Malfoy been so tame when he and Ron had been using the stadium and did not offer any of his snide remarks?

* * *

"I requested the document, Wormtail. What are you useful for?" Harry screamed in his cold, high-pitched voice at the snivelling, rat-like man kneeling in front of him. Harry releases a hiss of frustration echoed by a great snake poised along the top of his throne. He beckons to the tall figure standing a few yards away.

"Lucius, I believe your son is still seeking my pardon for his incompetence. The document I seek, your son can get it. Considering he is still to perform for us in the near future…" A leering smile stretches his lipless mouth. "…he can, for the time being, practice those skills in getting me what I desire. If Wormtail here," Harry says, looking down disdainfully at the grovelling man on the floor, now profusely kissing the hem of his robes to seek absolution, "is to be believed, then Draco's chances are highest to obtain it." Harry bores his red slits into the blank grey slates of one of his most prominent followers. "See to it that he gets it."

A slight, almost imperceptive pause follows before Lucius speaks. "Of course, My Lord. When do you need it?"

Harry considers this for a while, narrowing his red slits. He strokes the great snake, whose unblinking eyes were fastened upon... "Lucius, you are one of my most trusted Death Eaters. Clinical, proficient, intelligent... you have stood behind me for a long spell, and I will reward you: you son will have enough time to carry out his task; Lord Voldemort rewards loyalty. It's not crucial that I have it for my other plan, but for the more immediate one I must have it, before I initiate the takeover, and only you know when this is."

Lucius bows his head. "Yes, My Lord. As you wish."

* * *

"Harry!"

Harry rushed back to consciousness to find himself thrashing on his bed, sweat covering both skin and sheets. Ron was hovering over his open bed curtains, a worried frown clear on his face in the moonlit darkness of the dormitory. Harry got up, heavily panting, his heart pounding, feeling shaky and nauseous. Wiping sweat off his brow with the back of his trembling hand and after jabbing his glasses on his face he tried to regulate his breathing, to shrug off the disturbing images and disgusting knowledge with which the vision left him.

"Ron," he rasped weakly with a coarse throat.

"It's okay, mate, it was just a dream, relax." Ron sat on the bed and rubbed his back and shoulders calmingly.

"Ron," Harry said again, "I have to—have to tell—Dumbledore. I have to tell Dumbledore..."

Ron understood. "You want me to come with you, or should I wake Hermione?" he asked.

Harry shook his head, gratefully to Ron for not making him explain himself. "No, I—I'll be fine, I just need to find Dumbledore, quickly before I forget."

Ron nodded firmly and let Harry rush out of the dormitory after visiting the bathroom, and grabbing his Weasley sweater along for the chilly night outside.

Harry dazedly and half-mindedly tore down through the corridors heading to the headmaster's office on shaky legs, his thoughts demoted to simple instructions such as 'Just keep walking until the phoenix gargoyle.' After he gave the gargoyle the password he ascended the staircase in a robotic fashion and rapped on Dumbledore's door. No answer. He rapped again, but still, there was no cheerful 'Come in!' His vague, surreal state of urgency, disbelief, and disgust swiftly gave way to full-on panic. He knocked again and still there was no trace of Dumbledore's soothing voice.

Harry began hyperventilating. Sheer horror and panic overwhelmed him for a moment with such intensity that he thought he had black out briefly. He touched the oaken double doors gingerly as though he had never seen them before and wheeled about, his chest beginning to heave again, his eyes searching the vestibule aimlessly for a clue on what to do next. His felt betrayed by what he was seeing; he could not think logically; he wasn't in his right mind. Where was Dumbledore? Why couldn't he just hear a merciful 'Come in!' from the other side of the door to relieve him of this dread? So close yet so far… Harry stomped down the spiral staircase, again the cylindrical stone and great phoenix and the stairs seeming new, as though he had stepped into a phantasy of phoenixes and moving gargoyles... He needed to be clear-headed in order to figure out what to do next but only his mind was working in short bursts of simple thoughts. What... what does one do when one cannot reach someone who's somewhere else…?

_Hedwig!_

As soon as his feet left the stairs he bolted for the Owlery.

"Harry, what brings you to my office at such late hours?"

The words hit him like a train. They crashed into him, stopping him so abruptly that the rest of him was still lurching forward. Before he had even gathered all of himself and located in his field of vision his mouth had turned on a stream of words.

"Professor Dumbledore, I had a dream and Voldemort is planning something about taking over something or some place and Malfoy is closer to it and he said something about exercises and Voldemort needs this document to-"

"Calm down, Harry," Dumbledore said softly, raising a blackened hand to interrupt Harry's breathless tale. He was standing strangely close to the wall, and he stood slightly hunched as though he had too much gas.

Amidst all his alarm and distress Harry noticed the black, shrivelled hand. He minded the sight of Dumbledore more seriously: his headmaster looked extremely pale and was barely able to stand. His eyes were sunken blue deserts, his tall form was shaking slightly and his face had that brittleness about it again but all the more pronounced. Harry was struck motionless for a good few seconds. He did not know what to do.

Dumbledore smiled. "Harry, I need you to call Professor Snape to my office."

Harry remained where he stood, his feet frozen to the ground, shocked at what his mind was telling him, which was far different from what he believed.

"Harry-" Suddenly, Dumbledore was stumbling forward, but he caught himself and leaned against the wall.

Unable to comprehend this new fallibility of his headmaster, Harry ran not to Dumbledore to assist him but the other way, away from him, away from that which he could not believe, and towards the dungeons to Professor Snape. He ran and ran and ran, kept running towards Snape, towards Snape, towards...

"Snape. Snape. Snape…"

The cold air whipped past, his feet pummelled the dungeon flagstone floor, echoing loudly in the dimly lit corridors, the wan torchlights blurring past him like neon lights, his breaths turning into throat-burning sobs of fear. He reached the door and banged on it as though his own life depended on it... He wrenched the doorknob maniacally, crazily, and knocked and wrenched again until finally, it was pulled open and, resplendent in his sullen glory, stood the Potions master, Severus Snape.

"What is it, Potter?" Snape hissed through clenched teeth, his cold black pits glaring at him. "What are you doing out of your common room in the dead of night?"

Harry held those cold eyes with his own green ones, too relieved and breathless to speak for a moment. "Dumbledore, dying," he panted. "Dumbledore says I must come to you, he's—he's—he's—he's hand looks dead and he looks ill and he almost collapsed..."

Snape regarded him for an excruciating while, his black marbles assessing intensely, searching his face or his soul. Then, without warning, Snape just... _swooped_past him like a bat. His black robes slapped him across the face and billowed furiously behind his tall figure as he tore down the corridor. Harry recovered from the sudden movement and followed, and he thought he caught a glimpse of platinum-blond hair within Snape's private quarters.

Snape was unbelievably fast for his age: his long strides were covering ground Harry had to match with three of his own. He was a black bat flying down the dungeons corridor mechanically in elegant, deft strides. Harry could not help but notice the stark paleness in Snape's face made plain even further by the sharp contrast of his dark attire. Harry fleetingly wondered of what significance Dumbledore was to Snape.

Anticipation and dread getting the better of him, Harry quickly ran round the last corner and was marginally relieved not to see Dumbledore lying in the corridor. They reached the gargoyle and both simultaneously flung the password at it. Neither one of them acknowledged the other.

In the brief hiatus of silence during the ascendance of the revolving stairs, Harry's erratic breathing seemed to rile up Snape, who already looked fit to kill someone. "Calm yourself this instant, Potter!" he snapped, his voice ringing in the spiralling staircase.

Snape deigned to knock but forcefully swung the large doors open with impressive force.

And there Dumbledore sat. Harry would never admit how... how... That picture was just not right. It was not possible. He was Albus Dumbledore; he was never to submit to menial things such as pain or anything less than invincibility. Harry could not process that image that greeted him…

Snape approached the man, his eyes resting on the blackened, deadened left hand. He quickly reached out for it, held it in his hand delicately and examined it, a fierce frown on his face.

"Severus."

Snape refused to meet Dumbledore's eyes.

That stuttered, ragged, desperate voice crushed something inside Harry. It made his stomach clench painfully and plunge to his feet, dragging with it his breath and the blood from his face… It was more than he could handle. He pulled towards him the chair and fell weakly into it. He did not want to approach the scene any further than he had. Seeing instant death and seeing live suffering like this were two very different things. Harry watched as a frail Dumbledore lay there, slouching meekly in his tall-backed chair, breathing in jagged rasps; face gone pale and lined seemingly more than usual with wrinkled pain; cerulean eyes more transparent and glassy than ever – a pair of powder-blue, unseeing, empty orbs.

The portraits were all watching this avidly. Some had even come to the foreground of their portraits, their features flattened as though pressing themselves up against a window.

"Potter." Harry's head snapped up from Dumbledore's blackened hand. "Tell Draco to bring me some VRP – he'll know what it is, as well as a rudimentary Healing potion – a Level-A one, and a healing salve. Now!" he yelled urgently, for Harry had been about to stutter idle, incoherent questions about the Potions jargon. He bolted out of the office, more than relieved to escape the sight of a seemingly dying Dumbledore. Wait, that could not be possible. He could not think like that. Dumbledore would not die, he could not die, he must not die…

Harry found himself streaking to the dungeons once more, this time for Malfoy.

The door barged open, and a deranged, panting teenager entered.

"Malfoy!"

Snape had taken off with him without telling Malfoy to stay behind: the younger Slytherin might not even be in here. This quadrupled Harry's horrid trepidation, and the infuriating displaced calmness of the weak dungeon torchlight, the warm fireplace blazing, casting tangerine forks upon the vases and vials of potion ingredients; and the soft, plush, dark emerald carpet did all but calm Harry's frayed nerves. He wanted to smash something, but he had to get Malfoy. His menaced footsteps echoed loudly as he stomped into the next room to search it, but he stopped short at the sudden appearance of the blond. They stared at each for a moment as Harry was silenced in relief.

"Malfoy, I need some healing potions—er, er, a—er, some VRP! Yes, and Level-A Healing Potion, and a healing salve. Now, Malfoy! I don't have time for your sarcastic bullshit!" he bellowed, even though he could not recall Malfoy being sarcastic once since the start of term.

Malfoy kept silent and studied Harry as though sniffing out an opportunity. Harry made a strangled, gasping sound of incredulity at Malfoy's inaction in a time like this. But Malfoy spoke before Harry could regain a competent grasp on his vocabulary.

"Something happened to Dumbledore, hasn't it?" said the slightly inquisitive, mostly dispassionate, silky voice.

Harry stared at the boy for a few moments, not comprehending Malfoy asking asinine questions when Harry here was in dire need of life-saving potions. Before he even registered his mouth opening he had bellowed, "Yes, Dumbledore's sick, he's dying!" But why did he think Malfoy cared? Obviously Malfoy would want just that. Why? Because he was a bad person. But in the face of the true threat of death, Harry's primeval instincts told him that even a school arch rival surely could not underappreciate the gravity of a death, even if it was that of Dumbledore, for whom Malfoy had no love.

And, indeed, Malfoy swallowed with what looked like unease, and averted his gaze. He seemed to be battling with himself, and at Harry's frustrated grunt and attempt to go forward and manhandle him, Malfoy swept past towards the shelves lined with various monstrosities suspended in liquid.

"Level-A Healing Potion, quite strong. 'Aggressive' – the strongest he has here," Malfoy was muttering to himself, perhaps to dispel some of his own anxiety. "Won't find it here."

Harry was _this_close to punching out the pale git. His insides were screaming; he was wasting time. Dumbledore was fading where he was, and all Malfoy could do was say he would not find the potions here?

"Healing salve," Malfoy declared, throwing Harry a jar with a yellow, oily substance like petroleum jelly. Harry's shaky Seeker hands caught it, slight relief washing through him.

"...VRP, no that's also quite strong." Malfoy made his way past Harry and into Snape's private quarters, muttering, "Merlin, what did that old coot do to himself...?"

Harry held all the nasty replies to that rhetorical question hanging on his tongue, feeling their bile filling his mouth. White and purple blotches were beginning to blot his vision, and his heavy breathing was making him a little dizzy. He could not handle standing there doing nothing and left in the room alone. He made to go into the other but Malfoy barred him with a curt glare. What seemed like eons later, Malfoy emerged from the room with two more vials – a wide one with a purple liquid and the other, a bright-blue fluid.

As soon as Harry's hands clamped around the two containers he flew for the door. He only became aware of a second pair of footsteps when he reached the last corner to the corridor of Dumbledore's gargoyle. He ploughed on to the golden phoenix without a second thought about it.

"Lemon drops!"

The duel motion of him and Malfoy ascending the stairs spoke to a brief air of camaraderie between them. But this was quickly dispelled when Harry broke from the spiral stairs and shoved the doors open. Dismissing Phineas Nigellus Black's comment of "Ah, I see we have a Malfoy in our midst," he ran to Snape, who was now casting spells in an urgent rumble, making wild gestures with his wand above Dumbledore.

Snape's face shot to Harry, and he quickly plucked the potions out of his hands before Harry could blink. He took the healing salve first and spread it on Dumbledore's charred hand carefully and thoroughly. He then proceeded to shove the two other potions down Dumbledore's throat and thereafter continuing with casting spells on him. Harry watched on nervously as Snape's face twisted in concentration, muttering an incomprehensible stream of spells. _Why didn't they-_

"I'll go call Madam Pomfrey!" Harry burst out, and he went for the door. He was less than two yards out the office when, with the whites of his eyes, he observed that had this had a powerful effect on Dumbledore: the closed eyes were now opened and focussed on him, and he could not look at them but could not look away either.

"Yes, the young man is quite right, Dumbledore, dare I say," said Black, frowning worriedly down at Dumbledore.

"No, Harry, that won't be necessary," said the dry, coarse voice of Dumbledore. "And thank you for your concern, Phineas."

Black snorted loudly, looked aside, and stuck his nose in the air as though Dumbledore had insulted him rather than complimented him that he had a heart.

Harry remained rooted to the spot by shock and confusion. Why was Dumbledore refusing professional help from the school nurse? And did this mean he might just have made it through? He watched as Dumbledore moved sluggishly out of his slouching posture and rearranged himself in his high-back chair. His eyes darted to Malfoy, took in the boy swiftly, but burned to Harry.

"Thank you, Severus, my boy," Dumbledore said gratefully in a more stable, modest voice, at least with an echo of its previous healthiness.

Snape's face swiftly emptied every emotion he had held as an unconcerned expression slid into place, and he avoided looking in Harry's and Malfoy's general direction. He drawled, "And exactly how did you manage to acquire such an injury?" he asked.

Dumbledore dismissively waved at him with that same blackened hand, which, Harry saw, looked just as creepy and as dead as it had a few minutes ago when he appeared in the corridor.

"That is not of pertinence, Severus. What is, though, is our two guests here." Dumbledore's exhausted and pale face studied Harry and Malfoy.

Snape regarded them, merely offering Harry a scowl, which was his mildest reaction yet to the presence of the boy as he was usually perfunctorily inclined to give him a heated glare upon sight.

"Mr Malfoy, may I ask why you're here?" Dumbledore asked.

His words sounded guarded and bore an undertone of suspicious caution.

Malfoy looked shocked he had been addressed.

"Potter came barging into Severus' quarters and demanding healing potions," said Malfoy superciliously and very defensively, and Black's quiet expression of fondness quickly changed, as he was undoubtedly astonished that a supposed refined aristocrat was speaking in such tones. "And quite strong ones at that; Severus – I mean Professor Snape – hasn't even published the VRP one yet. Then Potter came back making quite a noise and saying you were on your deathbed, or death-chair, I should say, so I was curious. You know, curiosity – that thing that compels you to find out what happened, makes you approach the scene of an accident and look over the Mediwizards' backs to see just how badly injured the person is. Exciting stuff, really."

By the end of his speech Malfoy had convinced no one of his nonchalance: he was breathing very shakily. 'He's smirking,' Harry thought, beside himself, his green eyes sparkling at Malfoy. 'He's actually smirking…'

"No one asked you to-"

"That was all?" asked Dumbledore, cutting across Harry.

"Yes, I'm still speaking, Potter," spat Malfoy, those being his first words to Harry this year. Black was looking more and more unimpressed with Malfoy. "No, actually, I had business with Professor Snape, I was merely seeking him," Malfoy said silkily. His cold, grey eyes swept over to Snape, silently questioning, inquisitive, absorbing every nuance of Snape's face to catch even his smallest reactions. This time Malfoy more in control of himself. "See, he was about to tell me something interesting, and we got interrupted by Potter here." And as though Harry and Dumbledore were not in the room, and still staring at Snape, he went on, "And I wouldn't mind to know as well just why he was so, er, passionate about healing you, almost as though he really didn't want you to die…"

The muscles around Snape's eye twitched as though they were about to narrow upon Malfoy, but they remained cold, black, and almost dead, as usual.

"Mr Malfoy, are you implying that I should have left the headmaster to die?" he asked, his tone delicately incredulous. "Granted, it's not down in my contract to come to the headmaster's aid in the event he or she falls to ill, but surely I should exercise some humanity, ought I not? That which some of us haven't enjoyed recently and dare I say won't in the very near future…?"

The little complexion in Malfoy's face was bleached away: Malfoy looked quite stunned. His glared at Snape motionlessly.

Harry's eyes bounced from Snape to Malfoy. And after giving his black hand a cursory glance, Dumbledore cut through the silence.

"Your professor is done here, it looks like. Severus, I believe your attention was requested."

"_I_believe my ears are functional enough to register sound a few feet from me, thank you, Headmaster," Snape replied acerbically, glaring at Dumbledore, his lips curling back as his eyes fell on the shrivelled hand. He swiftly glided to the door, this time having enough mind to give Harry the perfunctory heated glare. Malfoy, whose eyes had not moved away from Snape's face, still in shock, almost looking betrayed, followed him.

The two of them journeyed back to the dungeons in silence, footsteps clicking in the long dark corridors. Snape swung his door open and let Malfoy in. He removed from his drawer of a bottle of golden liquid and a small glass. He went over to one of the green couches and sat, crossing his legs, opened the large bottle and poured the liquid in the glass, thereafter replacing the cap on the bottle and placing it on the low table between him and Malfoy. He stared into the fire burning in the grate.

"I don't suppose I can have some of that," Malfoy said, looking longingly at Snape's glass from the suede emerald couch on which he sat.

"I daresay you'll enjoy it soon enough at the Slytherin Quidditch victory party following a triumph over Hufflepuff after you've 'illegally' smuggled it in," said Snape, without looking away from the fire.

"…That's not funny, Severus."

"What's not funny?" asked Snape, and he turned to look at Malfoy. "The fact that you actually won't because you'll have shut yourself inside your Prefect's room, too afraid to venture out? Or the fact that you won't participate in the match because you were petitioned off the team?"

"Both," Malfoy hissed, meekly but defiantly.

"Naturally," said Snape, smiling slightly. "I was not impressed by your little speech back there," he said quietly, his dark eyes staring through his black curtain of greasy hair.

Malfoy shrugged. "I, on the other hand, was very impressed by how awfully worried you were about Dumbledore _back there..._"

Snape raised his eyebrow slowly, making the simple gesture seem like an art. "How do you mean?" he asked, as he swished the liquid in his glass.

Malfoy studied Snape's sallow face for a spell. There was a seemingly infinite length of time between the two seconds that passed, but Malfoy finally shook his head dismissively, something lingering there in its leave, though.

"You were about to tell me something interesting before we were interrupted by Potter," he pointed out, but Snape waved a glass-free hand dismissively.

"Never mind that. It's far less alarming than what you had to tell me. There's no place for spite now, Draco. You should have indulged them and attempted to lift those script-concealing charms on Dumbledore's note to Potter for them so they could scurry off with it to their fathers to relay to the Dark Lord, even if they jeer at you daily about going to be their father's plaything, because not doing so is tantamount to treachery, when you know the Dark Lord wants all information about this school and Dumbledore given to him. Fauss, who has some fierce vendetta against you as you've told me, and his friends now instead are going to tell of your detachment from the ultimate cause. Your almost non-existence standing in Slytherin did not need another blow like this. And you're certainly not helping your ostracism, which your suffer because your competence in the Unforgivables after I took painstaking effort to teach you over the summer leaves much to be desired."

Malfoy looked up from the emerald carpet. "What, you expect an apology for having wasted your time and efforts?" he asked with a sharp, derisive laugh.

"Not an apology," said Snape smoothly. "Nothing at all. You haven't wondered why Lucius hadn't gone over the Unforgivables with you himself since the Dark Lord returned after he had done so ever since you could walk, have you?"

Malfoy did not speak but resumed his study of the emerald carpet.

"Yes, I suppose not," sneered Snape. "The trappings of youth…"

"I don't suppose you aren't going to tell me, are you?" said Malfoy aloofly. Hi seemed not to appreciate Snape's patronizing words.

"Forgiving your shortcomings," said Snape slowly, "on that event night of your gather and Macnair took you to the floor and had your legs spread apart like some of the Muggle fodder we enjoy while we literally paint the town red with their own bl-"

"You're comparing me to a Muggle," said Malfoy, "on top of everything else?"

"Yes, Draco, because you should grow well-used to the idea of having your legs spread apart – it is something that will undoubtedly feature more and more in your routine from now on. A handsome portion of my extra-curricular colleagues aren't married – and it's not a great mystery why – and they made their lust for you plain in our latest gathering, though I'm hard-pressed to see what they find so attractive in you."

The aloofness, defiance, and derision seemed to ebb away from Malfoy at Snape's words, and he stayed quiet like a timid dog, while Snape sneered at him again as his pitiless eyes gave him a dismissive once over.

"I don't think we should continue with your trips here – you're growing too well-acquainted with my quarters for my liking."

Malfoy suddenly looked up, and there was surprise in his face and a trace of fear.

"Why?" he asked, almost accusingly.

"Because," said Snape, his black eyes looking straight into Malfoy's grey ones, "it is futile. I don't doubt your numb disbelief has shortly made way for full-blown terror when it finally sunk it that, on the night of the first Hogsmeade weekend, you're to be served to the Death Eaters, your body to be tainted and defiled in ways I daren't imagine, their hands on you, Draco, hm? Penetrating you, washing away the gross naivety you hold dear… and the Dark Lord, worst of all..."

Snape trailed off, the name hissing through his lips, and as Malfoy shut his grey eyes a chill seemed to run through his body. Several muscles worked in his jaw. "Stop it. What are you trying to do to me?" he said softly, after he opened his eyes again.

"I'm trying to shatter your pride," said Snape bluntly.

Malfoy stared at him, and a pause followed. "What? Why?"

"Because I care about you," Snape said flatly.

"Then why are you doing this?" Malfoy demanded, sliding forward in his seat. "Why are you doing this if you care about me?"

"Because," Snape replied calmly, looking into Malfoy's eyes again, whereupon Malfoy looked away, "it seems to me it will be the only way for you to cope with your… Unforgivable predicament, shall we say, for I do not have the slightest hope that you will master Occlumency in time. Since coming here for a handful of times a week you have convinced yourself you've been tentatively – inch by inch – built an ability to cope. But as the day nears it brings back the same amount of overwhelming dread you felt weeks ago, doesn't it Draco? Shattering – piece by piece – your tediously constructed resolve, leaving you to resign once more to its full horror?"

Malfoy was breathing hard, glaring at Snape, his potion-maker hands fisted at their sides, but he did not speak.

"So you need the false, temporary solace you can get from me, and I only humour you because you're my godson. But tell me, do _you_think you'll be ready in time?" asked Snape, his voice delicately inflected to indicate his scepticism. "Do you think you will do better in Occlumency than you have done in the Unforgivables, where you cannot even perform a simple Cruciatus Curse, let alone the Killing Curse, Merlin forbid?"

"Fuck you," growled Malfoy, shaking.

"No, Draco, it is you who will be fucked," said Snape, and Malfoy recoiled as though he had taken a physical blow, grey glaring eyes boiling silver with disbelief. There was a moment's silence before it shattered.

"SHUT UP!" boom Malfoy, leaping to his feet. "SHUT THE FUCK UP! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?"

"I've answered that question already," drawled Snape, his bored, black eyes staring up at Malfoy.

"YOU'RE LYING! YOU WOULDN'T BE SAYING THESE THINGS IF YOU CARED ABOUT ME!"

"Sit down, you're making a noise."

"I don't want to sit down!"

"Sit. Down. Draco."

Breathing hard through his nose, killing Snape seven times over with his eyes, Malfoy flung himself into the couch.

"I want to continue doing Occlumency," Malfoy said, his voice quivering heavily with the strain to keep from shouting. "I will get better at it."

Snape stared at him for a very long time before he said, "You're sure?"

"Yes," said Malfoy a little breathlessly.

"Very well," said Snape. "Remember, block out your emotions and thoughts – remain blank." He took out his wand and held it out to Malfoy's forehead, his other hand still holding his Ogden's Old Firewhisky.

"_Legilimens!_"

Meanwhile, Harry and Dumbledore stared at each from across the table.

Harry's swallow was embarrassingly audible in the silence in which they sat. He averted his eyes, studying the scarlet carpet, not knowing what to say to the person he had nearly witnessed die, a man that held such prominence in his mind and heart.

Dumbledore let the silence reign.

Then, in the still quiet, Harry's voice came: "I had a dream I wanted to tell you about."

This was met with more silence.

Dumbledore studied Harry from where he sat.

"Yes, Harry?" he prompted finally.

Harry said nothing for a while but finally opened his mouth to speak again.

"Voldemort's planning something."

Only now that his heart rate was down to normal and his mind was capable of rational thinking once more instead of short bursts could the pieces fall together so beautifully in front of him and the truth could hit him with such force. After nearly witnessing another death, this newer alarm came only with a vague numbness that was insulting to its urgency, and left Harry impassive, as he was unable to react to more shock.

Dumbledore absorbed the words without a change of expression. "Undoubtedly so, Harry," he said kindly.

Harry then looked up at his recovering professor.

"I think Voldemort's planning to take Hogwarts."


	5. Unfogging the Queer

**Chapter 5**

**Unfogging the Queer**

He did not want to tell anybody, even his friends – not now. He could not bring himself to place that weight on any other soul – it would be so cruel. That fact itself was so thieving and consuming it had even stolen Harry's capacity to react. But he knew it was going to happen without a doubt.

Wormtail had some connection to this document. It was needed to take over something, and Malfoy was close to that document. Wormtail, Peter Pettigrew, was one of the four designers of the Marauder's Map, which was a mostly complete map of Hogwarts. It was only logical to assume this map was necessary to besiege Hogwarts.

Voldemort was coming for Hogwarts. He would probably only fully appreciate this when the first spell hits these walls.

It was double Potions, the first class on Mondays. Snape was stalking the aisles, doling out harsh criticism to anyone whose potions was the slightest shade or texture wrong, even more frequently than before...

Harry sprinkled some moon dust into the deep red concoction while Seamus threw in a handful of yellow, needle-like leaves with Seamus again.

Harry took a moment to look around the room as he contemplated what he already knew. He just could not muster the feeling: the fear, the awe, the disbelief of it all. He kept it deep inside himself, in a dusty corner of his mind, too afraid that if he said it aloud it would become spoken, realized, made into being… But it had to come. It had to be said. It had to be realized, felt, experienced, absorbed, reacted to, believed. It all had to happen before the looming Hogsmeade weekend in five days' time. He thought he should at least tell Hermione so they could get the defence club off the ground because if Voldemort was coming then the heavens knew they needed it.

He found his heart pacing as these thoughts swirled around his head. Was he finally starting to feel it? To wake up to real urgency? And what finally came, what he had dreaded all along, was the fear that had eluded him since he had worked it out: the only home he had ever known was the target of a megalomaniac. It was going to be taken away from everybody, from him. Harry's hand let go of the ladle with which he had been stirring. Seamus shot him a curious look before taking over the brewing. Harry fell into his chair, ran his hands through his hair, forced his breath to even out, took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. After a spell of staring at nothing inertly he stood up.

"Potter!" Snape swooped down on him. "What exactly do you think you're doing? I see that you think yourself above menial labour such as potion-making and thus left the ignominy upon your partn-" Snape paused his speech, left in silent incredulity as Harry merely walked past him when he was in the process of embarrassing him.

Harry marched almost blindly over to Hermione's desk. The room fell deadly silent. Every pair of eyes was trained on Harry making his way to Hermione and Neville. Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

Snape quickly emerged from his stupor. "Potter, I'm sure you and Miss Granger have very urgent matters to take care of at the moment but now is not the appropriate time. Sit – down."

Harry's vision was dabbled with white and purple spots again. He was not experiencing any of this; it was all so very distant… His hand reached out to a startled Hermione and his feet led them both to the door.

"Potter, dare walk out that door and I'll wipe Gryffindor House's points clean and you can forget about the House Cup!"

The door clicked shut after them.

Ron held his breath, a horrified expression twisting his face as he looked at a furious Snape.

Outside the classroom Harry told Hermione everything. She did not believe him about Wormtail telling Voldemort about the map, and she did not completely come around after she suggested he burn the map. Harry told her Voldemort said in his dream that it was not necessary for the takeover. Her defeated posture seemed inadequate to Harry. Nevertheless she updated him on her progress with developing the magic Galleons they would use to notify students about the meetings.

"Blimey, Harry!" came Ron's awed, boisterous voice from the door of the Transfiguration class. "Snape nearly popped his jugular! And you know how thick it gets when he's angry!"

He plunged into the seat a table behind Harry and Hermione, handing them their bags. Potions had ended a few minutes ago. Harry and Hermione had not returned to the class, having chosen not to commit suicide but instead headed for the library.

"What was with you, Harry," Ron said, "just walking out of there with Hermione like he wasn't even talking to you? Gryffindor lost sixty-five points today and that's lucky from the way he was looking!"

He had not adopted an admonishing tone exactly but was flirting with it. Harry knew that the only reason Ron was such an avid collector of House Cups was just so he could see Malfoy's face crumble at the end of every year, something which for Harry had the greatest sympathy himself. And now that Gryffindor's winning streak was threatened Ron's panic was eloquently clear all over his freckled face.

"We had something important to discuss," Hermione explained in a guarded tone, every line on her face taut. Harry next to her had a resigned air about him. He was a little contrite as well: _Sixty-five points?_

"Bloody murder it is!" Ron grumbled. Deciding not to challenge Hermione on what was more important than preserving House points as he never won those arguments he thickly swallowed his indignation and took out his stationery.

The class started trickling in slowly, a few chairs scraping and books thudding onto the tables. Harry turned to the front as Professor McGonagall entered the class from another door beside her chalk board. Her manner was as brisk, curt, and efficient as ever. She smartly arranged her papers on her table and drew herself up. In response the flow of students coming in sped up.

Harry noticed Malfoy had a habit of tucking his impeccable white-blond hair behind his ear whenever he was uneasy, as opposed his tossing his hear when he was relaxed. He did not hurry to his seat, however, but swaggered along. Of course not. Malfoy merely took his seat in his own time with that usual air of superiority. Harry was aware of these things Malfoy did because, well, one tends to be wary of one's enemy… Harry also noticed, though it happened rarely, this propensity in Malfoy with his peripheral vision.

Each was so suspicious of the other. Harry suspected Malfoy of being a Death Eater and colluding to aid his fellow Death Eaters in infiltrating Hogwarts from the inside. Or of more innocent things like sticking his leg out to trip Harry. But Harry did not know exactly why Malfoy watched _him_. It was probably because Malfoy took him as a rival, an offensive entity and thus a threat in some way.

Harry found the class full and settled, sitting attentively and waiting on Professor McGonagall's words. He drew his faculties and focused at the front.

Did McGonagall even know about what happened to Dumbledore?

"Good morning, students," McGonagall said in her brisk, clipped tone.

The class offered a very impressive greeting in reply. This was the only lesson in which they greeted the teacher in such a formal and well-mannered fashion while in others this was grossly more relaxed. For example, in Herbology Professor Sprout's greeting was so sweet and cheery the class could barely bring themselves to take it seriously, except for some Hufflepuffs and Neville of course, In Potions – well – that need not be mentioned. In History of Magic their ghost teacher was never in a lively-enough mood to be inclined to offer the pleasantry.

"Today," McGonagall began, "we'll be performing Trans-Species Transfiguration, which you were instructed to research for today's class." Here she gave a sharp glare in the direction of Ron, who slid a few inches into his seat and who, though he did not dare forget to submit homework, never impressed McGonagall. "Please produce your twelve-inch-long essays and place them on your desks."

A miracle only possible in McGonagall's class: the entire class obediently hauled out their parchments and put them on their tables. Hermione cleared her throat, proudly straightening her annotated, footnoted, colour-coded, and three-inch longer essay on her desk. Harry felt so inadequate looking at her effort and his nondescript essay. And like Ron he too had enlarged his scrawny handwriting slightly to fill out the required length. He peered across Hermione at Malfoy's essay at few tables away. It might not be colour-coded but it looked extensively referenced judging by the number of parentheses Harry could spot, and the Slytherin's aristocratic, cursively flourished handwriting, Harry admitted, distinguished Malfoy's work from the rest.

Hermione too would seek out Malfoy's research homework since he was her only competition in all of the classes they attended together. Then her chin would tilt a few degrees higher, her lips would stretch a little bit tighter, and her eyes would sharpen a little more, as though silently promising herself a future defeat for the competition as it seemed Malfoy had once again managed to match her.

Malfoy, on the other hand, was unconcerned, keeping his eyes to the front. Harry almost admired his unfailing nonchalance. It was almost artful.

McGonagall came perilously close to Ron and Harry as she went around the room: Harry could almost hear Ron's thundering heartbeat. Unfortunately it seemed she could hear it too.

"Mr Weasley," she said tersely, stopping in front of Ron, without glancing at the essay lying on his desk. A few low giggles erupted from the other corner of the class where McGonagall was furthest away. Harry turned around and saw Ron's Adam's apple rise and fall as he swallowed nervously.

"Yes, Professor McGonagall?" Ron rasped thickly.

"I see you haven't filled the required length of the essay," McGonagall said. "Your essay would have been at the very least three pages long and I see only two. And your writing is rather larger than life. I'm one for Transfiguring things into bigger ones but not my words, Mr Weasley." Snickers broke out from the rest of the class. Ron's face grew bright red, clashing terribly with his freckles and bright, orange hair. "I suggest you redo your essay and submit it to my office before seven o'clock tonight if you wish to forgo a detention, is that understood?" She raised a severe eyebrow.

It sounded like a choice but it never was with McGonagall, that much Ron and Harry knew.

"Yes, ma'am," said Ron in a small, squeaky voice. McGonagall swept off.

The class escaped mostly unscathed when the lesson ended. Ron and two other fifth-years lost Gryffindor fifteen points, but these were fully recovered thanks to Hermione for her stunning essay and her ability to cast a perfect Trans-Species Transfiguration Spell. Their achievements, however, only brought their net profit to nil while Slytherin gained ten extra points for Malfoy's essay.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione packed up their bags. Ron did not dare to look at Hermione, who looked so pissed Harry swore smoking coming from her hair. She had every right to be: her well-earned points merely wiped off the deficit partly incurred by Ron instead of making up for the sixty-five points they lost in Potions as Ron himself had complained about. The three of them, refusing to meet in the eye, made their way towards the door.

Hours later in the cosy Gryffindor common room, Hermione was helping Ron with his Transfiguration essay, which was due in a few hours. The room was lively, with kids milling in and out casually. Harry was doing his homework as well but did not fail to notice from sat that Hermione was explaining things to Ron just a little too closely into his personal space and chewing on her quill furiously every few seconds. And Ron did not seem to mind at all; he had a permanent red tinge to his face.

Sitting alone at one corner of the couch, Harry did feel, despite himself, a little isolated, like an outcast. He tried pushing these feelings away, trying to concentrate on the Potions reading he had to do. He had no time to indulge in whims, no time to indulge in sentimental frivolities. He had a war to fight here. He should not pity or feel bad about himself. He should feel happy for this... enhanced friendship budding here even though both parties were probably not aware of it. Ron and Hermione were finding something good and special between them – he should be happy for them.

Harry could not wait for seven o'clock.

Was he really alone now?

_Swoosh!_

A brilliant white blur plunged through the open window of the dormitory.

"Hedwig!"

Harry jumped up so quickly off his couch he became a blur himself.

Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown's gossiping could only be stopped for a second when they noticed the white owl flying in, but after appreciating Hedwig's magnificent colour it nevertheless commenced in equal fervour.

"Apparently he's been single for three days," Parvati told Lavender, who gasped.

"Malfoy? Alone? I don't believe it! There's always another grinning and swooning girl to take Parkinson's place!"

Hedwig hooted and landed on Harry's arm gracefully, whereupon Harry ruffled her feathers as her large yellow eyes took in his face and the rest of the common room. Harry's eyes shot to her leg: she had a note! He stopped petting Hedwig and made quick work of the string and unfurled the note, his hands shaking.

_It has to be, Merlin, it has to be..._

The other two looked up and joined him.

It was from Sirius.

He was not alone, after all.

_Harry,_

_Your common room fireplace_

_12:00_

_Wow_. It was incredibly brusque. He frowned at the piece of paper, vaguely aware of the two streams of breath hitting his neck. Ron and Hermione were stunned as well. Hermione did not even huff in indignation at the lateness of the indicated time. Harry tucked the note in his pocket, turned around suddenly and went back to his comfy couch, continuing with his silent reading, minding his own business. He, too, was not alone.

Ron and Hermione shifted nervously in front of him.

"Harry."

"Hm?" Harry said neutrally.

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks that clearly said, 'Oh, boy.'

"Harry, are you all right? I mean, you've been expecting that owl for so long and... with this You-Know-Who thing going on, I'm not sure if... Are you okay? You know you can talk to us, Harry."

Harry nearly could not help the urge of looking her in the eye silently just to absorb that banality of her words. What kind of answer did she expect?

"Of course I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" he asked shortly.

Hermione looked very uneasy. She drew a little closer, her hands clasped together anxiously in front of her skirt. "Well, I thought you'd be very stressed with this war issue, you know, and a lot of other things... I just want you to know, Harry, please: you can talk to us. Right, Ron?" She turned to the redhead.

Ron fell upon himself to answer. "Of course, Harry. You've always known that. We're here for you, mate." He cleared his throat, uncomfortable in the touchy moment.

"I know," Harry said, making sure convey his contrived belief, consequently making his scepticism known. He did not know completely why he was doing this, but he did know that he was angered by Hermione's words. How dare she? How dare she ask if he was all right? He might die in a few days, a few weeks, a few months, he did not know. He could not even find comfort in the fact that Hogwarts was virtually impenetrable because it just might not be, despite long-standing assurances from history. If Harry knew Voldemort, he also knew that he would not relent until he achieved what he desired. He was malevolently driven. And Sirius – he had not heard a single word from him for so long, after so many weeks… He could be caught or even dead… And she has the audacity to ask him, 'Are you okay, Harry?'

He was becoming irrational and he knew it. He should not put blame on her – she was not doing anything wrong. As a matter of fact she was doing a lot of things right: arranging the meeting for the defence club, her Galleon idea and Sirius' dagger. He was clearly going astray here. He needed to re-evaluate things, go back a few steps, hold himself together. He could not lose sight of things, not in a time like this. They should be united and forget the pettiness. Harry forced his anger down, and forced himself to appreciate his friends and their loyalty. They were good friends over and above all and he loved them, Ron and Hermione, the best friends for which he could ever hope. They stuck with him through so many things, through so much…

"I know, Hermione," he said more convincingly, making sure to look at them in the eye repentantly. It was time to grow up.

Hermione gave him a wide, watery smile before she and Ron went back to doing his essay. An hour later it was finished. He stood up in an undeservedly proud way and awkwardly thanked Hermione for her help, and Hermione replied that it was no problem no less bashfully. Harry shared a smile with him as he passed by towards the portrait hole.

Ron's exit left an air of mixed emotions between him and Hermione. Hermione returned to her couch, with a pensive look on her face. Harry watched her. Then, her face met his. She initially seemed surprised, holding his eyes for a while. She raised an eyebrow at Harry, who mimicked her. The girl shrugged and looked away for a few seconds before suddenly gasping.

She rifled through her parchments furiously, flipping through numerous books and scribbling some notes on a long piece of parchment on which Harry spied intricate formulas and weird shapes. Hermione was indeed a bookworm but Harry had never seen her so passionate about schoolwork. He went over to her.

"What is it, Hermione?" he asked, hugely intrigued.

She wasted no time in explaining her new revelation. "Harry, the Galleon idea. I think I've finally cracked it!"

"Okay," Harry said, still puzzled.

"Look, see these twelve runes? I've come up with this combination here, then placed them like this on the edge of the coin so that – since distance is very important between symbols – so that it is only-" Hermione paused at Harry's befuddled shake of his head. She took a deep breath and a strict expression crossed her face; Harry suspected she was thinking the school should make Ancient Runes a compulsory subject. She cleared her throat. "I'm pretty confident this can alert the members of the defence club. And speaking of which, I think we have to promote the meeting this Saturday at the Hog's Head. I can use the noticeboard and we can send out some flyers or something."

Harry reminded himself about the severity of the situation before he could sigh at how tedious it all sounded. "That's brilliant, Hermione! We'll see what we can do about getting people interested. I mean, it's for their own good and they know Voldemort is back since Dumbledore announced it in front of the whole Great Hall on the first day."

Hermione nodded firmly after flinching at the name, which Harry always ignored.

The portrait frame swung open and Ron stumbled in, back from McGonagall's office. He trudged over to them and threw himself into a couch. "Bloody woman nearly bit my head off!" he complained. "I gave her the soddin' essay, didn't I?"

Harry and Hermione merely shrugged.

Having finished doing their homework for the night, Harry and Ron – after they both cast a look towards Hermione, who nodded approvingly – play a game of wizard chess while she drew up the defence club notice. They later invited her, as well as Dean, Seamus and Neville to play Exploding Snap.

Then out of nowhere, in the throes of delight and merry cheering, Seamus cried, "Oi, I have an idea: let's play Spin-the-Bottle!" While everyone laughed and contemplated the maturity of the game, Harry heared Seamus whisper in Dean's ear, "I heard Ernie Macmillan's not a virgin anymore and he'd been playing this game over the weekend with some Hufflepuff girls. See? Libido is universal." He invited Parvati and Lavender and a few other Housemates, but the quick dispersal that ensued summarily dismissed him, and Harry was sure their disdainful thoughts were along the lines of, 'We aren't ten, for Merlin's sake!'

The night went by quickly. When Harry looked up it was few minutes past eleven. He, Ron, Hermione and Parvati were seated in front of the fireplace in the plush scarlet armchairs. Their books lay abandoned on the table. Parvati had joined them after Lavender had called it a night while and the Indian girl still had some reading to do, as her _Unfogging the Future_ was open on the table on a chapter on premonitions. She had shared with Harry, Ron and Hermione that she felt it related to her profoundly. After having finished reading, the Gryffindor common room dwindling as other students finished their work and retired to their dorm rooms, and given an audience of three, she spilt all the latest news.

Hermione's eyes bulged, Ron grimaced and Harry's eyebrow went past his scar and disappeared behind his fringe.

Parvati nodded fervently at them. "Isn't it a shame? I mean, Merlin, I can't say he pulls my heartstrings but there is something nice about him. Never would've guessed, yeah?"

"I never would have known," breathed Hermione, who initially had made a brave attempt at appearing disinterested in gossip but had capitulated as soon as Parvati mentioned the words Seamus and "bending over" in the same sentence.

"I bloody shower with him every day!" Ron gasped in disgust.

Harry was rather taken aback by Ron's asperity. He knew gay people were not readily accepted in the Muggle world, having seen what Dudley and his group of brutes did to "skippy ponces". But he had not known to what extent, if any, it applied in Wizarding society. Ron indeed was his most accessible window to this world having been raised all his life in it. Harry found himself growing afraid for Seamus, and a little confused by his invitation to the girls to his Spin-the-Bottom game which had not happened. Perhaps it might have been a cover.

Hermione noticed the fear and confusion in Harry's face and started to explain (as if she could resist).

"Harry, homosexuality in the Wizarding world is extremely taboo," she said. Parvati gave her a quizzical look, clearly confused at the need to explain this. "Even more so than in the Muggle world because apart from wanting to be as pure and undiluted as possible – magically speaking that is – they also want to secure their existence. And if people started dating homosexually they'd be wiped out and a lot of pureblood lines will be jeopardy of extinction – something they don't need since there're so few pureblood families left as it is."

Harry felt embarrassed Hermione had to explain this to him, especially in front of other people, to whom this was perhaps common knowledge. At least he understood now.

Ron looked slightly contrite and squirmy in his chair, feeling guilty about his predictable action after Hermione's explanation, Harry thought. But he also thought Ron was brought up in a kind and warm family home and had been taught to accept anyone and everyone, just as they had accepted him, Harry, into the Burrow. Ron nervously cracked about wanting to see Lucius Malfoy's face if his son said one day (Ron raised his voice to a tenor), "Father, I'm gay, so I won't be able to give you an heir and the whole pure bloodline will be wiped out." He and Harry fell into a fit of chuckles. Ron pretended to die of a heart attack while holding his wand vertically by its other end rather like how one would hold a cane. Harry laughed harder but Hermione and Parvati were not amused.

The silence thickened rapidly again. Fortunately having vowed to rid the world of dull moments whenever she was around, it was becoming evident, Parvati reapplied her mouth: "Speaking of Malfoy, so, guys, have you heard of his situation? Apparently he and Parkinson have split up!" She nodded vigorously at this, her usual fervour returning. "I can understand how you three must hate him. I do too, but, Merlin, even you have to admit, Hermione, he's the cutest guy in the whole of bloody Hogwarts!"

Ron made to protest that this was not appropriate conversation material but before he spoke Harry caught him looking at Hermione, where he saw a hesitant, hinged gleam in her eyes.

Almost reflexively Harry dismissed the part about Malfoy being attractive, not being a homosexual himself and having passively accepted this many years ago, as had many other fellow heterosexuals in this school, thank you very much. Harry suspected Malfoy was not as popular as he could be, with those good looks and huge fortune, because of his acerbic attitude and that overly possessive and repugnantly pug-faced Pansy Parkinson.

"Have they really been dating those two?" he asked. "I mean, I wouldn't be surprised if they were just friends – they had never like shown any signs of that before. I've never seen them kiss or hug or something in public." Like Hermione, Harry had also initially wanted to remain out of this conversation and merely listen because, strictly speaking, this was gossip and it did not sit right with him to know that he was engaging in such girly things. Even Ron shot him a quizzical side-glance. It seemed some of his inhibitions had fallen away in the face of curiosity – or idle chatter in an effort to hurry the hour hand to midnight.

Parvati gave him an incredulously exasperated face as though she believed the integrity of her chinwag unquestionable.

"Malfoy wouldn't be so obvious," Hermione pointed out, with a faraway look. "He's... subtle, he's delicately refined, a through-and-through nobleman – attentive, diligent, eloquent, always immaculately dressed... He's honed to perfection like the way he was brought up to be…"

There was silence, and three pairs of raised eyebrows.

Hermione's face pulsed red. "Well I'm right, aren't I?" she said aggressively, and in a rather intimidating way.

A moment's hesitation passed before Parvati came to her rescue. "Of course, Hermione, er-" She cleared her throat. "-I couldn't have said it better. He's definitely all of that. He..." She looked ahead into the distance, a pensive, admiring expression settling softly on her features. "...He's all of that and more… Ah, a Quidditch-toned body, those long fingers so good with Potions, that perfect skin, and, Merlin, that bloody hair! It's ridiculously unfair!"

Hermione shifted in her seat, blinking rapidly. She cleared her throat a little forcefully to snap Parvati out of her bedazzled reverie.

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. Ron looked like he was going to vomit.

Parvati's eyelashes fluttered as her mind returned to the common room. After another tense silence grew between them, she swiftly went on, "So, why aren't you guys going up to bed like the rest?"

The three exchanged panicked looks, and amongst the scattered, nervous replies, Hermione's won out.

"We were just in the middle of discussing something stupid really," she said dismissively.

"Oh," said Parvati. There was another lull in the conversation but she reacted swiftly. "I hear Cho's starting to feel good about dating again..."

Harry's throat dried up when inquisitive, sidelong glances from all of them accompanied Parvati's words. He grew beetroot in the face.

Hermione, the lifesaver she was, interrupted the silent expectation for Harry to speak. "Er, Parvati, we have an idea that we think is very important we get around to," she said, steering the topic from gossip to more serious matters.

His embarrassment swiftly washed away, Harry locked his eyes on Hermione, who seemed to have had enough of Parvati exposing them in various ways. First it was Ron's homophobia, then her when they had been discussing Malfoy, and then Harry when Parvati hinted to Cho's availability. Hermione and Ron had not abandoned their patrolling duties for this.

"Ron, Harry and I are starting a defence club." Parvati's frown only deepened. Hermione went on, "As you well know, You-Know-Who is back and he's out there gathering strength and probably rebuilding his army." She held Parvati's widening blue eyes, suddenly solemn. "We need to learn to defend ourselves, Parvati, and I'm asking you to help spread the word about meeting up this Saturday in the Hog's Head at midday."

Harry and Ron looked on at Parvati feeling quite sympathetic: mere seconds ago she had been worry-free. She was more than likely to play it down and ignore everything she heard rather than act on it. Harry would not be surprised if she just walked away without believing a word. Yet another inductee into their depressing world. It was hard to live in the truth.

Parvati sat still and silently. She appeared to scarcely believe her ears and how things had darkened so quickly.

"I want as many people who feel they want to protect themselves and their families from this oncoming war as possible to come," Hermione said. Parvati's jaw hung lower at the mention of war. "We're going to be teaching you defence spells – advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts." Hermione looked aside at Harry, who nodded at her bracingly even though he still had no idea what he would be taught in Dumbledore's lessons.

"And Harry here is going to help us. He's actually fought against You-Know-Who himself many times before so he's our best shot. He has the most insight into him and his followers."

Parvati's eyes slowly turned to Harry, who felt like Hermione had been reading his résumé, advertising him to persuade Parvati to accept him and the truth. He did not feel comfortable with it, but they had to get the defence club going sooner rather than later.

Parvati finally shut her mouth and seem to pack all of what she heard in her mind. The other three looked on at her with nervous hope. She was the catalyst they needed: she had the popularity and the loud mouth to spread the word.

"Erm," Parvati began confoundedly. She took a few moments to get her head straight. Finally, she sighed, "Er, yeah, sure, whatever. I can do that." She nodded resolutely but still looked shaken.

Hermione nodded gratefully and smiled. At least the gossipmonger was in Gryffindor for a reason beyond her courage to spread gossip knowing that one day she might just meet the incensed subject of her spew.

"Thank you, Parvati, we really appreciate it," she said. "Don't worry, things will work out." Harry knew Hermione was not ordinarily so inclined to offer such a platitude. But the way Parvati was taking it he could understand her compulsion to say something comforting even if it might be a lie.

Parvati smiled feebly at her. Her face slowly fell, however. But then suddenly, as though she craved the light-hearted conversation they had before Hermione mentioned anything about war, she said, "I hear Flitwick's buggering a kitchen-elf."

That most certainly seemed to do it for Hermione. "Par-" Before she could finish Ron and Harry released guffawing barks, haphazardly sprawling in their armchairs, their legs kicking in the air, chests heaving and faces screwed up in delightful hysteria. Hermione clearly was not impressed but her lower lip started to tremble. As soon as she turned to Parvati, whose chin was quivering widly as she tried to contain herself, they broke into laughter too.

The mirth gradually died, leaving the four of them in better spirits, the air resuming that lightness that tempted one into believing that all things were possible and that all will be well and other similarly euphoric sentimentalities. A smile still lingered on Harry's face when he turned to the clock on the mantle before he suddenly gasped: it was 11:53.

Hermione caught Harry's sudden movement. She too turned to the clock and the rest of her amusement faded. They had to get Parvati away. Ron joined the party a split second later and his eyes also widened, realizing the emergency.

Hermione turned to Parvati with a broad, plastic smile. "Well, Parvati," she simpered kindly, "this has certainly been very fun and informative. We should do this some other time again." Harry knew she was bluffing. Parvati raised her eyebrows and said nothing. "Now, though, we should be going to sleep."

Parvati jumped to her feet. She clasped her hands together and beamed down at them, her _Unfogging the Future_ book tucked under her armpit. "Yeah," she said, avoiding Hermione's eyes and looking around the common room and nodding very profusely. "We should do this again sometime."

Harry, undeceived, knew that her words were just as contrived as Hermione's smile. She had come over to them for light conversation only to be told about wars and defence clubs, not to mention being charged with spreading the word about the Hogsmeade meeting.

"Well, I should be going then." And with that, Parvati turned around to make her way to the stairs. But then, with one foot already lifted in the air, she stopped quite abruptly and Harry noticed that her eyes looked a little glazed over as though she were experiencing a spasm of divine insight. "To my bed, third on the right…" she whispered to herself, before dazedly floating up the stairs and into the girls' dormitory. Luna would be proud.

After the three of them exchanged sceptic glances Hermione sighed and observed, "Well, that was interesting."

The other two agreed. Harry shook his head and stifled a laugh, reminded about Flitwick's alleged deviousness.

"Do you think she'll do it? Spread the word, I mean?" Harry asked the two.

Hermione wore a worried look. Ron shrugged. "She might, mate. You never know. We shouldn't underestimate her, shouldn't underestimate anyone actually. I mean look what Flitwick's doing. Wouldn't have expected it of him, yeah?"

Harry laughed but Hermione giggled, almost seriously, "We don't know if that's true, Ron!"

The fireplace burst to life.


	6. Cauldron Heating Up

**Chapter 6**

**Cauldron Heating Up**

"Sirius!"

The smouldering apparition smiled warmly. "Hello, Harry. Ron, Hermione."

Ron and Hermione greeted Sirius' face. They shrunk back several paces, eyeing a speechless Harry, whose face wore the hugest grin they had seen on him in longer than a year, since as far back as when he had appeared on the ground clutching the Triwizard Cup in one hand and the shirt of Cedric Diggory's lifeless body in the other. They knew Harry would really want the both of them with him, but seeing him so profoundly relieved and happy they thought twice about intruding on this tender meeting, hovering awkwardly behind Harry.

"Wha—how—how are you doing?" Harry asked as he rubbed his shin. Such immense relief washed over him that it almost stole his breath away. He had been so scared these past months for this man. Was he all right? Was he hurt? Was he captured? Was he dead? Even after he got Sirius' owl that morning saying he was going to fire-call him in the common room the fear and anxiety had not left him in the slightest. Besides, so much could have happened between then and now. But now he knew Sirius was fine.

"I'm all right. Survived. Never been better, to tell you," Sirius replied. "And you, Harry?"

Harry made vague hand gestures. "I'm fine. What—how—what have you been doing all this time?"

Sirius gave him deadpanned look. "Just been surviving, as I said," he said flatly. "There's not much you can do going around as a mutt, you know. Although I've met a few interesting fellas along the way. I've spent most of my time in a cave Dumbledore has confined me in." There was a bite to these words, and his dark eyes darkened dangerously, harkening back to when Harry first met him in the Whomping Willow a little over a year ago fresh after escaping from Azkaban.

Harry's mouth fell open. "Dumbledore's keeping you in a cave? Like an animal?"

Sirius had the audacity, in Harry's opinion, to laugh – a low, gruff cynical bark. "Like a dog, you mean. Believe it or not, Harry, this is for the best, as much as I hate it. I cannot be seen anywhere around: as far as everyone's concerned I'm still a fugitive."

Harry was not convinced and remained indignant. "But he can't just make you live in a cave, Sirius!" he shouted indignantly, forgetting himself. He looked up towards the doorways leading to the dormitories where someone could have heard him. He turned back to Sirius. "It's bloody unfair! And then he takes and searches my mail without my permission! He's the reason why I haven't received your messages..." Then an odd thought occurred to Harry. "Is this the first time you fire-call?"

Sirius gave a wry smile. "No."

Understanding dawned on Harry's face and his eyes flashed green. "I'm going to have a talk with Dumbledore. He can't do this!"

Sirius looked down at the burning logs sadly. "Harry, Dumbledore knows what he's doing – don't get angry with him."

"But he doesn't have to make you live in a cave, Sirius!" Harry raged onwards. "Why doesn't he hide you somewhere here in Hogwarts or something?"

"So you can skip your lessons to visit me?"

Harry's silence spoke for him.

"I thought so," Sirius snorted, with a gleam of amusement in his eyes.

"He's right, Harry," Hermione agreed gently.

Harry whipped his head round to her with a deer-caught-in-the-headlights look as though he had forgotten she was still there, which was precisely what happened. He looked over to Ron as well. He had been so enthralled in talking to Sirius that he had completely forgotten them.

"If Dumbledore put Sirius in the castle, wouldn't you be tempted to go visit him after every class?" Hermione asked as delicately as she could. "To the point where your education could be in jeopardy? Besides, Sirius would want the freedom to go outside and enjoy the sunlight. He can't be stuck indoors the whole time. In his cave-" Hermione grimaced apologetically at Sirius, who made a gesture telling her to forget about it. "-he can go outside for a while whenever he likes, right?"

Sirius nodded and gave her a gracious smile. Harry scowled at the both of them and crossed his arms. "Where is this _cave_then?" he spat.

"I can't tell you that, Harry."

Harry was taken aback by the short and quite forward reply. "Come off it! Why not?"

The swaying face in the fire remained stoic.

"Sirius, tell me where you are," Harry demanded.

A few moments of silence passed before Sirius felt compelled to speak up. "I can't tell you that, Harry. Leave it. Now, tell me about your time at Hogwarts."

Hermione and Ron watched Harry closely, anxiously. Their raven-haired friend had a tendency to become rash. Fortunately, however, he relented on that topic, pacified and undoubtedly wishing to make the most of Sirius' rare fire-call instead of wasting time asking him questions the answers to which he would not get.

"It's been... fine," Harry sighed. How often did he say that?

"That's good," Sirius said, smiling up at him. "Preparing for the Quidditch season?"

Behind him Harry heard Hermione's patented disapproving sigh. He imagined that her lips were pursed and her arms were itching to be folded. On his other side he heard Ron take a deep breath, preparing, Harry knew, to fill in Sirius on their latest Quidditch moves and strategies for the upcoming games. But before this could happen Hermione cleared her throat.

"As fun as it would be to discuss Quidditch," Hermione said in a drawl worthy of Malfoy, "there are other serious matters we need to get through here. Sirius, the dagger."

Harry started in his seat. _The dagger!_ He had forgotten all about it!

The face in the fire raised a smouldering eyebrow. "Oh Harry showed you the dagger I sent him? Do you like it, Harry?"

Harry gave an noncommittal expression, a mixture of gratitude and cluelessness. "It's very nice, thanks. But what do those symbols on it mean?"

Hermione went still, curiosity overpowering her, seeking the answer to that precise question. She managed to correct Harry, however: "Runes, Harry. They're called runes."

Sirius frowned. "Runes? No, not runes. I don't know what they are, to be honest. Irked me ever since I got it from my father."

"How do you know they're not runes?" Hermione shot back, before calming herself and blushing, but still looking affronted.

"Because somehow Moony twisted my arm into taking Ancient Runes back in our Hogwarts years. Won't tell you my grade for that subject," Sirius coughed. "Have you seen these runes in your textbook? Or your numerous textbooks?" His eyes darted to Harry and Ron, and all three exchanged amused grins.

Hermione did not reply. Sirius nodded. "That's why I couldn't find them," she said so dismally one would think she had failed to save someone from a burning building. "I've never seen them before, Harry, even in the advanced books in the library… If they aren't runes then what are they?"

The question was met with silence as Sirius shrugged. Hermione went quiet in thoughtfulness while Ron still looked indignant that they had skipped the Quidditch discussion. Crookshanks flashed into view, and as he leapt towards the fireplace, suspended in mid-air, Harry saw Ron's leg give an odd twitch as though Ron would love nothing more than to send the wretched ginger feline flying to the other side of the room. But Crookshanks reached the fireplace without assault and pawed at the face in the fire. Harry shooed him off before any limbs burst aflame; Hermione was so absorbed in her own thoughts she had not seen anything. Crookshanks glared at him with her lamp-like eyes before she scuttled off.

Harry noticed Sirius was eyeing him intently. The orange face smiled wordlessly at him, still staring at him. Sirius turned around to look at something behind him before he spoke. "There's been... increasing Death Eater activity as of late. Voldemort," he said very quietly, ignoring Ron's and Hermione's flinches, "is starting to gear things up."

The atmosphere in the common dropped a few degrees. "What's been happening?" Harry asked apprehensively, the swift change of subject leaving him almost breathless.

"Well, there have some skirmishes," Sirius replied dryly. "Can't say I've seen them myself – that twat Wormtail knows my Animagus form so I can't really get out and sniff around." His eyes bore into Harry. "You need to prepare yourself, Harry. Now. Take any help you can get, listen to your friends, don't underestimate or overlook _any_anyone who could potentially help you."

A dark shadow passed over Harry's face. "I know," he said shortly.

Sirius nodded solemnly. He looked behind him again. "I have to go, you three – it seems my time's up." He smiled up at them.

Harry leant forward from his seat. "Wait! Can't you stay for a few more minutes? Where are you fire-calling from?"

"It was good to see you, Harry, all of you." Sirius just had enough time to say goodbye before the fireplace burst into flames once again and the orange face vanished.

"I guess not," Harry sighed, after a pause.

Sirius' dark words left the air tense and heavier between the Gryffindors. Trying to dispel it Hermione started moving around: she packed her things up and put the note she had made for the Hogsmeade meeting on the common room noticeboard. Afterwards they all called it a day – a very long day.

Contrastably the days that followed whizzed by quite quickly. Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves peeking in the direction of the noticeboard whenever a student came over it. They never discerned any signs of outright disinterest when their eyes moved onto Hermione's notice about the meeting in the Hog's Head but that hardly constituted a decisive gauge for the prospective number of possible attendees, if any. They just had to wait for the day to come to see who and how many people showed up.

What was encouraging, however, was that they also started noticing that more people were frequenting the noticeboard lately – many more than usual curiously. And as the days went by Harry picked up on more and more eyes on him and Ron and friends. Was the word spreading? Was Parvati actually spreading the news as they had beseeched her to? Seeing this becoming increasingly apparent Hermione felt compelled to personally thank Parvati for her efforts.

"The momentum is really starting to build! More people are catching on!" Parvati reported, before she said sheepishly, "Makes me want to join too!"

Needless to say Hermione was speechless at this. Harry was just as astonished sitting a few yards behind her. He suspected Hermione had written Parvati Patil off as a typical materialistic and insipid species.

Harry was getting kind remarks and greetings from people he had seen or spoken to before. It seemed there were more people who cared about their safety than he, Ron, and Hermione had anticipated, given the natural apathy of students. Perhaps people were not as shallow and ignorant as to dismiss the threat against their well-being for their own piece of mind. Perhaps they wanted to play a hand in their survival. Perhaps they want to survive. What elated Harry most was that people were appreciating the truth and not trying to hide away from it, for it was so easy and so selfish to ignore it.

Quite appreciably things started to change up. Everyone got serious. It seemed like the students moved just a little quicker along the hallways. They had just a little more edge and hardness to their faces. And the air all around grew just a little sharper, crispier. Harry could see all of this unfolding as closely as in his two friends: they, too, were changing, perhaps having a kind of mental growth spurt, preparing themselves psychologically.

It was all about the preparation to prepare, and Harry did not know another soul more frightened than he was. But the encouraging smiles he received from the people he least expected to receive them from instilled more courage in him so he could step up to the plate to lead the defence club. Perhaps one day he could see himself leading the effort against Voldemort.

Things might be getting serious but that did not mean Parvati had to chasten her lips. Maintaining her duty to gather and give gossip as though it were a service every Hogwarts student needed and deserved – thus making Hermione's opinion of her vacillate interminably – she offered them another "scoop": Slytherin House had "apparently" (indeed the use of such commercial terms was ominous to Harry) grown hostile towards Malfoy. Growing close to the group Parvati had joined Harry, Ron and Hermione in the library to study quietly with them, once again _Unfogging the Future_open in front of her, on page thirty-three.

"And I don't even know what exactly it is. You know how those Slytherins are: bloody secretive like they hold matters of Ministry importance!" Parvati huffed angrily and crossed her arms. "Why can't I just get to the bottom of this Malfoy issue? Why are they shunning him out in the first place? It can't just be because he broke up with Puggy Parkinson. Actually I would've thought that would have the opposite effect. I mean I know Lavy is trembling to jump on Malfoy given the chance, and she's not the only one."

Harry, Ron and Hermione sat quietly, confused at the news as well.

"Do you reckon it's got something to do with his father?" Hermione asked finally. For someone upholding the library as a place of learning, Hermione was not being as perturbed by this conversation's lack of academic substance as she should have been.

"It could be," Harry answered. Maybe Lucius Malfoy screwed up a mission Voldemort's gave him and was suffering the humiliation of his failure and by consequence his son experienced it too.

"Good for him, the ferret deserves everything he gets," Ron said, with vicious satisfaction. Harry suspected Ron's elevated relish at Malfoy's woes was due to what happened yesterday when Parvati had mentioned Malfoy and Hermione had failed to rubbish what the gossipmonger had implied.

"Ron," Hermione admonished automatically before turning to Parvati. "What are you reading?" she asked her, in a manner Harry thought was a little vindictive. Since joining them in the library – a place akin to church for Hermione, he suspected – Parvati had not glanced at her book even once after taking it out. In fact she had just laid it on the table merely to appear busy in case Pince came around during her usual patrolling rounds, leaving the book to open and flip to a random page.

Parvati looked down at the object of inquiry and stared at her book as though she had not expected it to be there.

"Honestly," whispered Hermione irritably, as she glared around the library as though offended on its behalf.

"Ah, Merlin, I swear I'm going barmy. I keep seeing this number!" Parvati hissed.

Not entirely over her affront to the library, Hermione frowned at her. Harry and Ron exchanged glances. "What number?" Hermione snapped, of course her impatience owing to the fact that at the centre of the issue lay a textbook for Divination class, which she had foreswore the same year it was introduced to them.

Parvati looked put out. "This number that keeps popping out everywhere! First I had a dream: I saw these two hands holding up a book. It looked like a statue actually, and the book had the number _three_ written on both pages. Then yesterday Lavvy told me that Malfoy and Pansy broke up _three_ days ago. Then I only realized on Monday that I sleep in the _third_ bed from the window. And then now here it is – page _thirty-three_." She looked up to the three pairs of eyes staring back at her quizzically. "Then you three…"

A sceptic quiet passed over them, perhaps three seconds long.

Hermione, who together with Harry and Ron had indeed been witness to Parvati's realization of her sleeping arrangements, scoffed incredulously, "You can't honestly believe all that means something!" She looked down at the Divination book disdainfully.

Parvati shot her a glare. "Of course it does! It says here in chapter three that—Ah! See? Chapter _three_! _Three_again!" she shrieked, shoving the book into their noses one after the other, feverishly jabbing at the words "Chapter III – Premonitions" with a nail-polished finger.

Although Harry did not have misgivings as deep as Hermione did about the sketchy subject, he too thought Parvati was taking things a little too far.

"Why don't you take out your own book and see which page it lands on?" Parvati sang in a petulant challenge.

Hermione merely paid her a blank look. However, before she could open her mouth and steer the conversation to less dubious matters or suggest they study in silence better yet, Ron slipped out a book from Harry's rucksack (of course Ron could not bother carrying any books of his own, but he never risked it in Potions). Hermione gaped at him; she clearly could not believe Ron was falling for this.

"Only you, Ron!" she snarled.

Parvati gazed hopefully at Ron, who was the only person taking her seriously.

Ron placed the spine of _Useless Magic: A Collection of the Most Marginal, Mundane Magic Imaginable_, opened its covers and let the book flip itself to a random page.

Peering down her nose at the book, Hermione appeared very confident of herself. The chances of the book landing on page thirty-three, three hundred and thirty-three, or even thirteen were technically remote.

Parvati looked on nervously and Harry watched the weight of the book carry its pages flipping to its other side.

It landed on page 279.

Hermione gave a positively disillusioned Parvati a triumphant look, the _I-told-you-so_kind. Harry shrugged, thinking little of the whole affair. Ron, however, was studying the page.

"Hey, check this out," he said. "Spell number three hundred and thirty-three."

Hermione rolled her eyes to the heavens and clucked her tongue. "Honestly."

Parvati's spirits surged again. She leapt around the table and studied the book ravenously over Ron's shoulder. Harry leant forward to see what Ron was talking about, while Hermione watched with an inclined chin from afar. The luring of reading soon won out.

* * *

_Useless Magic_, Section 4: Magic Manipulation, Sub-Section 1: Spell Manipulation

333. SPELL COMBINATION

**333.1. History**

Combination Spells are the quaesitum of the branch of magic manipulation in the field of the theory of magic. The identity of their inventor and when they were invented is unknown but their earliest appearance in record is in a declassified research paper exploring extraordinary magical phenomena dated June 1888 published by the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic. So little is known about Spell Combination that several prominent late 19th century scholars dismissed the branch as "Muggled magic" and some of them even formed a group calling itself the Free Spellers which advocated the expunction of the branch from the canon. As a result Spell Combination never received mainstream literary treatment, further restricting the adoption of Combination Spells to a small section of the general Wizarding public.

The practice of Combination Spells declined as rapidly as it took off. Many 20th century magical historians and even some academics attributed this to their general lack of viability mainly due to the fact that they violate one of the seven fundamental laws of magic which states that the collision of two or more spells results in their devolution to ethereal plasma form. This makes combination impossible since the ethereal plasma does not contain the REN units from the colliding spells and therefore cannot give rise to a new spell. This led to many post-Gamp magical theorists appending a conclusion to the law that all classes of spells were naturally incompatible with each other.

However, this was not the premise of the arguments proponents espoused for Combination Spells, who were generally retired magic theorists, spell researchers and ToM students collectively referring to themselves as the Mugglers, playing on the pejorative term "Muggled magic". Mugglers explored the possibilities of combining spells _before_ issue, not after it. This is called the post-issue argument (PIT). Twentieth century historians attacked the pre-issue argument (PRIT) while their predecessors towards the turn of the century attacked the post-issue argument. This chapter will henceforth deal with the pre-issue theory.

In pre-issue spell combination, unlike post-issue combination, there have been a number of spells discovered to possess the rare ability to fuse together, and most importantly do so satisfactorily. In 1890 a retired Auror named Wendell Wilkos remarked, "Wait, so you're telling me I can perform an Anaisthetus Charm and a Cruciatus Curse on a person at the same time? [I] should've been there for the War trials then – [those] bloody Grindelwaldites might've had something to say, after all..."

Despite the stronger pre-issue theory, Spell Combination remained an unpopular area to study because the result of a successful combination had proved unpredictable as found after numerous experiments. In August of 1890 the Doctrove Commission was established to investigate Combination Spells. The commission found that:

Post-issue combination is impossible (LoM4) and results in photo-connective plasmynthesis and excessive heat;

73% of the synthesized spells were volatile and unsustainable;

40% of them had such short wavelengths that they were virtually invisible (the issue of the spell was evinced by its specific effect or nature or the testing thereof), and;

There was 16% chance of performing a stable visible Combined Spell.

These findings, combined with the enormous cost to run the project and the uncertain factor of the magical capacity of the specific wizard performing the spell, forced authorities to dissolve the commission in 1893. This is generally taken to constitute the end of academic or institutional attempts to further explore this branch of spell manipulation.

Trevor Triviall Frivilus, Chief Editor and Senior Researcher for the fourth and fifth editions of _Useless Magic_, is the step grandson of Eri Blumenthal, the much parodied witch who was popularly known for being undermined for her eccentric ideas, which culminated in her dismissal from the Ministry of Magic. Before she died Blumenthal left Frivilus a treasure of rare, never-before-seen classified research files on Combination Spells from both the Department of Mysteries and the Doctrove Commission (please refer to the Appendix version of this book which The Three Trolls Publishing Company have sportingly agreed to publish, the only company to agree to do so as the theory of Spell Combination remains politically controversial to this day). This chapter summarizes the information contained from both sets of reports. Unfortunately Frivilus suffered a serious accident very near the publish date of this book and is under care in St. Mungo's.

**333.2. Hazards**

The major potential dangers include:

1. Blindness – temporary; extent depends on the substrate spells.  
2. Exposure to radiation – extend depends on individual properties of substrate spells.  
3. Burns – sustained performance results in wand heating and issue heat is considerable; temperature of heat depends, _inter alia_, on magical capacity of witchard.  
4. Lethargy; apathy – Combination Spells use up much of your energy and will.  
5. Permanent wand impairment – 0.2% probability.

The extent of these dangers is usually proportional to the power of the spell(s) as well: lesser spells present negligible risks. Higher spells such as those involved in Trans-Species Transfiguration, Potion Augmentation, and Advanced Charmery tend to have extremely unpredictable results and are less likely to Combine successfully. We need not even, and should not, speculate on the Unforgivables.

From the first edition it was heavily debated whether this chapter should be included in this book due to the very real and life-altering dangers contained within. Weird Wizarding Whimsicats cautions the reader to be very careful upon attempting these spells.

**333.3. Incantation**

The following is a shortened, empirical list of Combiner incantations used in performing Combined spells. Please be advised that as extensively tested as the incantations were, there is exists a good chance of injury. Weird Wizarding Whimsicats shall claim no responsibility for injury – physical or mentally. The primary goal in Spell Combination has combining two spells. Therefore attempting to combine any more than this is largely unprecedented and strongly discouraged.

333.3.1. Combiner incantation

The efficacy of the Combiner incantations decreases by approximately 30% from the first one.

1. -malgam-  
2. -combin-  
3. -funder-

_Important:_  
a) The Combiner incantation must remain unchanged, otherwise only the first incantation will work (see below) and the combination will not. You will be short of breath and perhaps tongue-tied for nothing.

b) Sounds made when pronouncing 'K' and 'c,' 'ph' and 'f' are the same, so there is no consequence in combining spells which contain them.

333.3.2. Procedure

1. Enunciate the incantation, **in full**, of the 'weaker' spell first.  
2. Enunciate the Combiner incantation **immediately and without pause**.  
3. Enunciate the incantation of the 'stronger' spell lastly.

_Important:_  
a) Beware that the first spell should be said in full. This is because it is the base substrate or primer on which the combination operates. The combination needs a robust platform on which to "jump-start" the reaction.

b) It is advised that the weakest substrate spells be the first spoken. If uncertain of which is 'weaker,' consult reference books, primarily research journals, many of which are based at GWL (Grand Wizarding Library), a subsidiary of the Ministry of Magic's smaller library, LoM2. Note, however, that these papers are highly inaccessible to the lame man, and usually approval by a recognized person is required, a prominent and more approachable example being the well-known Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore, [MLN(I)].

333.3.3. Illustration

**Spell 1 + Combiner Incantation + Spell 2 = Combined Incantation**

1. _Talantallegra_ + amalgama + _Confundus_ = _Talantallegramalgamaconfundus_  
2. _Talantallegra_ + fundere + _Confundus_ = _Talantallegrafundereconfundus_  
3. _Talantallegra_ + combini + _Confundus_ = _Talantallegracombinfundus_

**333.4. Notes:**

333.4.1. Optimization

a) Letters or syllables which fall away, known at WWW as a follof (follofs, pl.) or a frivolity (frivolae, pl.), in a combined incantation are determined by spellcasting intuition; trial and error feature hugely in this. The basic rule is that the letter/s of the Combiner incantation may overlay the letter/s of spell 1 and/or spell 2. This is strictly limited to prefixes which, after their (partial) removal, leave a unique fragment by which the original incantation of the second spell can be clearly derived. In the third example, the 'co' in 'Confundus' falls away. This is valid because no other spell's incantation ends with '-nfundus,' but a few, if obscure spells have the '-fundus' suffix. This selective overlaying, thus, does not give rise to any ambiguity.

b) It is recommended that an optimal complementary Combiner incantation be used in order to have the final hybrid spell incantation as short as possible. That is to say, combining incantations which can overlay with one of the three Combiner Incantations is more viable and thus most practical.

c) The most powerful Combined spell is one which uses the most effective Combiner incantation, (-malgam-), and one whose Combined incantation contains substrate spells which are all overlaid with the Combiner incantation, i.e. a spell which has [2 (no. substrate spells) – 2] number of follofs. One example of such follows:

_Aparecium_ + umalgam + _amorcamorata_ = _Apreci_um_alg_amorcamorata

Number of follofs = 2 (2) – 2 = 2: {um, am}. This is called the optimal folloformula.

d) Combining spells of the same incantation (e.g. _Lumos_ + combini + _Lumos_ = _Lumoscombinilumos_) gives rise to what is called a Frivilian-Morphelian spell, Biner spell or Second-Order Combination Spell (see **Further Notes**). It has been recently found that, under considerable will, the Combined Spell can have the power of up to 1.8 times that of the substrate spell. The Lumos-Biner Charm was found to have a luminosity of 1.7777777 times that of the stand-alone Lumos Charm. However, there had been an instant when our researchers combined this simple Lumos Charm in second order, resulting in a luminosity of exactly 7.0 times that of the stand-alone Lumos Charm. Spell Augmentation can only intensify a spell up to 4 times its strength. Chief Editor and Senior Researcher Trevor T. Frivilus lies in a vegetative state in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, suffering from an unknown cancer and some form of blindness. His feat was never repeated even after hundreds of tests. Second-Order Combination spells were named in part after him in his honour.

333.4.2. Recommendations

a) It is advisable to use spells belonging to the same family and/or category and/or class. For example, a Blasting Hex with a Blasting Curse (_Confringo_ + fundere + _Expulso_ = _Confringofunderexpulso_), or a Levitation Charm with a Summoning Charm, which both deal with motion. This more often than not ensures compatibility, which is critical in Combination Spells. The Combination of incompatible spells, such as a Stunning Spell and a Scouring Charm, may not work and has distinctly unpredictable results.

b) As lengthiness is the main disadvantage of Combined Spells, it is discouraged that these be used in duels or defence, since the duellist will be very hard-pressed to finish their incantation in time.

**333.5. Wand Movement**

Perform the movements for the first and second spell as normal. For the Combiner incantation, move your wand in a wavy horizontal "tilde" flick.

333.5.1. Illustration

**Spell 1 wm + Combiner incantation wm + Spell 2 wm**

_Wingardium Leviosa_ + amalgam + _Alohomora_

_Swish upward, flick forward_ + _wavy line_ + _half-circle up, line down_

**333.6. Further Notes**

a) A temporarily entertained splinch-off from the theory of Spell Combination was the combined incantation of the originals spells without the Combiner incantation. It was created rather to favour rhythmic appeal. For example,

_Aguamenti_ + _Furnunculus_= Aguamentuculus

Combination Spells formed like this do not work, though many duelling witchards of that time enjoyed using these as bluffs during its brief vogue.

b) _Editor's note_: Anecdotal evidence, Trevor T. Frivilus, Chief Editor, Senior Researcher: 'During the study break of my third year at Vaux University when I was twenty-nine years of age, I went swimming with my estranged great-grandfather (he was ousted by my family because he always used to sit and do nothing all day. They called him useless, as if they were any better; my mother's side took more than a decade to get their OWLs let alone their NEWTs and my father's side suffered mental regression). He always told me to keep my wand on me at all times – even when swimming. Supplicating to the wisdom of old age I dived into the water with my wand instead of using Summoning Charms because I was useless with them. Meanwhile my great-grandfather Redundantima Frivilus was bending over nearby, utterly oblivious to the fact two sharks of mammoth proportions were ready to shred me to pieces.

The one closest to me went for my leg. So with little hope and in mortal panic I performed a Colour-Changing Biner Spell and by some miracle it worked. The end result was that the shark became so nonplussed to find itself dark brown like a sea lion it forgot to keep itself moving – while its companion avoided him as though being the colour of a sea lion was contemptible for their kind – and died on the spot. The second shark, perhaps a family member, was not as impressed with my spellwork as I was (or I should say Combined spellwork). So without the energy to repeat the spell on another fully grown shark, I performed an Aguamenti Biner Spell and shot myself out of the water, landing soundly on the beach, at which point Redundantima's rear gave way and he saw my bleeding leg. He repaired it with a second-order Healing Combination spell, and you couldn't tell I had just been attacked by a shark a myriad times my size with an accomplice!'

**333.7.**_**Useless**_**Usual Fun Facts!**

33.7.1. Attempting a second-order Combination of a Teeth-Whitening Charm makes teeth so transparent they become invisible. One will be mistaken for a very young pensioner or an extremely developed toddler. Both garner great sympathy from others.

33.7.2. A male friend of one the junior researchers attempted a second-order Engorgement Charm on his genitals. The friend grew an extra testicle hanging below his two Bludger-sized original ones and his penis was so large that whenever he became aroused he suffered fainting spells, as most of the blood in his brains immediately rushed downwards.

33.7.3. To easily get rid of Doxys, perform a Combination of an Obscurate Charm and Sulpharoma Hex. The Combined Spell is so effective that one of our veteran Spelltesters patented it, started her own business (Dorothy's Doxy Dopers – Specializing in the Extermination of Doxys, Cornish Pixies & Rather Timid Ventchers) and is now a Galleonaire. Weird Wizarding Whimsicats® has managed to stay financially buoyant solely by receiving royalties from her.

* * *

It was quite silent around the table.

Hermione appeared to be having a revelation – her mouth was hanging open and her eyes kept returning to the 'folloforluma' and dilating. Parvati looked disappointed that her dreams and noticing little things all came up to Combination Spells. Ron, after looking much put-out and traumatized by the information-ness of it all, especially when the numbers started rolling, was now together with Harry wheezing silently in laughter at the editor's anecdote, tears streaming down their flushed cheeks and arms clutching their sore stomachs.

"Trevor Triviall Frivilus!" screeched Harry softly, his head on the table, saliva pooling on it from his mouth.

Ron threw his head back, losing all his breath in one howl. "His grandfather," he choked, "Redundantima!"

Harry banged his head on the table, sure that his stomach would rip from all of this. "'His rear gave way!'"

Ron released a gruff shriek that sounded like a drowning chainsaw. Hermione shushed them but their hilarity was unstoppable: Harry banged his fist on the table and Ron fell to the floor.

"Can't believe this!" Hermione hissed. "Harry, Ron! You'll get us thrown out!"

Parvati was smiling at Harry and Ron, seeming tempted to join them.

There came the sound of stalking heeled shoes. Harry quickly heaved himself off the table and tried to compose himself while Ron shot to his feet and took his seat, where he bounced up and down with suppressed laughter, biting his lip.

Hermione's head whipped around, frizzy hair aquiver in panic, and caught sight of Madam Pince. She turned back to the two boys and scorched them with her most deathly of glares that threatened a myriad of ills including refusal of class notes. Harry and Ron stopped laughing quite abruptly. Harry wiped his saliva off the table with his sleeve. When Madam Pince prowled into view she evidently could not see anything to justify throwing them out, for with a most sour face she slinked on towards another corner of the library, gazing at them like a hawk from over her shoulder.

Now quite sour himself at Hermione for cutting his laughter short, without the appetite to begin another round of it and with a slightly painful stomach and cheeks, Harry sat with a thoughtful frown on his face, thinking about whether these Combination Spells could really be possible, despite the text's mainly faithless view on this.

Hermione eyed the book appraisingly as though she were considering taking it back to keep for herself after reading the highly technical chapter, prompting her and Harry to take the book more seriously.

"Do you think it's possible?" asked Ron, breaking the silence. He was still red in the face.

Hermione shifted in her seat. "It could be. I mean, it was studied, right? Researched," she said, as though research were some divine, unquestionable activity

"Do you think we should try it?" Harry asked tentatively, wincing slightly at his painful cheeks.

This was met with silence. Harry knew they were all thinking the same thing. It was highly likely that if the book had to be published under a ridiculous name like _Useless Magic_it was probably done to mislead the government so that they could publish content it had not officially released to the public. If only they had not fired the editor's grandmother.

"Can't hurt if we try," Ron suggested, shrugging with forced nonchalance.

Their eyes met.

"It's an idea," Parvati piped up bravely, though she still seemed disinterested in what they had been reading.

Hermione's eyes grew wide at this. "But... didn't you read? It says there are very real dangers here!"

"We won't use, like, complicated spells, Hermione, just stupid ones like a Tickling Charm or something," Ron whined in entreaty.

Hermione still looked unconvinced.

Harry came to his friend's aid – he too wished to see how far these Combination Spells would take them as accomplished wizard and witches. "Yeah, Hermione, we can just use simple spells. The biggest injuries we can get are—what—a few burns from the heat or being blind a few hours, which won't be such a loss to me," he laughed.

"What about the radiation?" Hermione countered, refusing to be amused.

"What's radiation?" Harry asked. He had heard a little about it back in the Muggle world.

Hermione gave a loud snort. "We clearly don't know what we're getting ourselves into. This is highly dangerous and we shouldn't be doing it!"

Ron looked exasperated. "Come on, Hermione, it's just for fun, for Merlin's sake. Let's see what happens and then if something bad happens we'll stop doing them."

He and Harry pouted at Hermione. Hermione was visibly pacified by this compromise. Finally she relented. "Fine, we can do them. But if I see even one of you bumping into corridors or looking bald all over I'm reporting you straight to Dumbledore!"

Harry and Ron grinned at each other. They got what they wanted!

Parvati quirked an eyebrow.

"What's a 'witchard'?" Ron asked after an uncomfortable silence started to grow.

"There's a glossary at the end of the book you can look at," Hermione replied. "It's probably a combination of 'witch' and 'wizard'."

Ron took her word for it. He looked positively impressed with this book for its inventiveness. First Combination Spells then 'witchards' …What else could the book invent for them?

At this point, a tall, rosy-cheeked girl with short, light-blond hair came up to them, carrying a small, rolled-up piece of parchment with an elegant, purple ribbon. She seemed to hop when she moved but her feet never left the ground, as though merely rocking on the balls of her heels. Without a word, she proffered the missive to Harry. Parvati straightened in her seat, eyes sharper than ever, no doubt itching to run out of the library and send rumours flying about Harry's secret admirer, a seventh-year, no less. Quite deservedly Hermione cast a wary look at Parvati.

"Er, thanks," Harry said bashfully, not entirely knowing why he was blushing. He took the note from the Ravenclaw, who remained dispassionate, turned around and bounced out of the library.

A few moments of uneasy silence ensued.

"Well?" Parvati piped up aggressively, looking at Harry intently. If she were any more expectant she would be tapping her foot.

Harry cast a beseeching look at Hermione. They had a no-holds-barred gossipmonger in their midst and could not afford her speculating on anything or reading the note.

Hermione (what would Harry do without her?) turned to the girl and jumped headlong into it. "Parvati, this is... classified information that no one else but us should see. It really has got nothing to do with that girl at all."

Parvati shifted her glare from Harry to Hermione. "Oh, _classified information_, I see!" she mocked.

Hermione and Harry winced. Parvati stood up from her chair so forcefully it fell to the floor, grabbed her belongings and stomped away with exaggerated dignity, nose high in the air.

The three of them forgot her summarily and put their heads to read the note:

_Mr Potter,_

I regret to inform you that due to your more pertinent commitments, especially considering recent events, you are not to join the trip to Hogsmeade tomorrow. Please report to my office at eight o'clock sharp.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

"Oh, that's just bloody unfair, that is!" Ron bellowed.

Hermione, who was clearly determined to avoid a repeat performance of Friday, shushed him severely as they were peppered with fierce glares from nearby studying students. Ron stood up and peeked around the bookshelf to see Pince craning her wrinkled neck to see who had made the noise.

Harry agreed with Ron. He was screwed. Hermione looked worried at this new turn of events as well.

"What about the defence club meeting at the Hog's Head?" Harry bleated.

Hermione sighed dejectedly. "But, Harry, I think Dumbledore's right – you have to go on with your training. You can't let a trip to Hogsmeade get in the way of preparations."

Ron drew breath and was just about to snort indignantly but held himself when Hermione gave him a warning glare.

It was still unfair, Harry thought. He couldn't go to Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks now. However, he was not so suicidal as to grumble, 'Bloody perfect,' in front of Hermione at the moment. She was not the one stopped from going to Hogsmeade and she did not have to deal with Professor Slughorn's disconcerting interest in him.

Shortly after, the three went out the library to head for Gryffindor Tower. As soon as Harry stepped out into the hallway his shoulder was battered by a passing platinum-blond streak. Ron, noticing Malfoy's two trollish bodyguards were nowhere to be seen, seized his chance and twisted the smaller boy around and held him up against the wall before he could disappear into the library.

"Ron!" Hermione shrieked. "Get off him!"

"No, Hermione, he can't just do that to Harry. He's going to apologize!" Ron glared down furiously at Malfoy.

Harry was familiar with Malfoy's mask of dispassion and nonchalance. It was working even now as he found himself between a wall and Ron's gangly body. But today there was something different about his eyes, about the entire performance of his face.

"Just leave it, Ron, it's only Malfoy, after all," Harry said, trying to diffuse tensions and not make a scene or end up duelling the git. Ron was a very mediocre duellist, but Malfoy... Malfoy has probably been duelling since he could grasp a wand, being a pureblood and all. The same could apply to Ron but Harry imagined Malfoy was trained by his father or even a professional trainer at an early age. For Harry was more than acquainted with Malfoy's crisp, clinical, and swift duelling style, as well as the exaggerated flair of course.

He was equally familiar with the Slytherin tactics as well. Yes, it was usually Malfoy widening his eyes at something behind him and Harry, in stupidity, looking back expecting a professor to be hurtling down the corridor, that gave Malfoy the window of opportunity to hit him with a good, nasty spell with which to start off. Harry usually came out of their corridor duels the victor, nonetheless, which was only if even finished the duel, which was rare. Regardless, Malfoy was undoubtedly the most challenging and formidable opponent Harry has ever faced amongst his peers.

Malfoy's calm grey eyes did not stray from Ron's red, teeth-bared face, but there was a little strain to his neck muscles, a small set to his jaw. There was definitely something slightly different about him – agitation or nervousness or something.

Harry watched Ron leaning closer into the other boy to hiss menacingly, "Apologize, Malfoy."

"Let go of me," Malfoy said levelly.

"Ron, leave him alone, he's not worth. Let's just go!" Hermione chastised.

But Ron did not relent. Harry saw a muscle jump in Malfoy's neck and begin to twitch: the boy was growing increasingly agitated. Knowing how powerful a wizard he was he tried to pacify his friend again before Malfoy did something to him. He personally was not afraid of Malfoy but he was afraid for Ron. He laid a firm hand on the redhead's shoulder.

"Let him go, Ron. I don't need his apology. It'll be worthless anyway."

"No, Harry, it's time we teach his ferrety git a lesson! He can't treat people anyhow he likes. Where're your bodyguards, Malfoy?" Ron mocked with devilish satisfaction.

This time Harry could not resist looking at Malfoy: though he looked perfectly bored with the affair, his face extremely passive, there was still a brittle quality about it, a slight tremor in the veneer. And Harry was inclined to believe it was not because of Ron.

"Call your pooch off, Potter," Malfoy drawled.

Ron grunted and drew his fist back but he hesitated when Malfoy did not even flinch or try to defend himself.

"RON, DON'T YOU DARE!" Hermione shrieked.

Harry had separated the two by inserting himself between them. "Ron, don't do this! You don't want to be expelled for violence, especially for him!"

Ron glared furiously one last time over Harry's shoulder before releasing Malfoy and stomping off down the corridor. Harry sighed in relief. He turned to around to Malfoy.

Malfoy lazily patted down his expensive robes without sparing him a single glance and strutted into the library. No glare, no acerbic words, no Malfoy smirk – nothing.

Harry caught Hermione's eye, both pondering on Malfoy's unusual behaviour. They did not speak on it but hurried along to catch up with Ron to the Fat Lady.

Later in the evening in the Gryffindor common room Harry, Ron, and Hermione did their homework. Hermione had gone over to a very offended Parvati to apologize and clear things up. Parvati had come around only when Hermione, much to her dismay, had to go to the length of admitting that Trelawney was not as bad as she thought she was before. Of course Hermione did not tell her exactly why she had a slightly higher opinion of her. Harry had told her of the Divination professor's true vision back in third year. Meanwhile, Harry, Ron and the rest of the Quidditch team were outside practicing hard for the upcoming Quidditch season.

Before going to bed that night Hermione assured Harry that they would hold the meeting without him and do what was necessary.

"Although it would have been great to have you, to drive more oomph into it, you know?" she had said wanly.

"Maybe I can ask Dumbledore to leave early," Harry had suggested.

Hermione gave him a disapproving look but conceded he do it in the end, for the greater good ironically.

Harry meditated before calling it a night.


	7. Hogsmeade

**Chapter 7 **

**Hogsmeade**

Harry stood in front of the phoenix gargoyle just before eight o'clock. Life had it in for him, he was certain: he had to wake up this early to a training session with Dumbledore instead of tripping to Hogsmeade. He had dragged his feet along from a painfully empty common room to the Great Hall for breakfast before climbing to the seventh floor.

"Lemon Drops," he grumbled. The statue leapt out of the way and he ascended the stairs. He gathered himself and organized his grievances before rapping on the door.

"Come in!" he heard. Mixed emotions erupted within him but without delay he proceeded into the headmaster's office.

"Good morning, Harry," Dumbledore said cheerfully. He looked and sounded the same as ever, except for the blackened hand resting on the large table besides its healthier brother. Harry had thought the hand would have healed somewhat during the week but it looked as black and dead as ever.

Legions of strange objects littered the various surfaces in the office, whizzing, flashing and smoking. Some of the portraits lining the wall above them blinked down at him benignly while others snored on, slouching in their painted seats.

"Good morning, Professor," Harry said.

Dumbledore gave him a warm smile as he claimed his seat. When he noticed Harry could not keep his eyes from his shrivelled hand, he gave the Gryffindor a dismissive wave with the very same hand at which he was ogling,

"Think nothing of it, Harry – we have more important matters to discuss."

"Yes, sir, we do," Harry said, suddenly pinning a smouldering, accusatory glare on Dumbledore as all sympathy for his deadened hand evaporated.

Dumbledore raised a wispy, silver eyebrow. "Certainly," he said softly.

Before Dumbledore could continue Harry rushed ahead. "Sir, can I ask you a question before we begin?"

"Of course, Harry."

Harry hesitated for a moment before gathering his wits about him and asking, "Have you been searching my mail?" His tone was not strongly accusatory as yet, simply cautious.

Dumbledore sighed. He seemed to have anticipated the question for an age. "Yes I have," he confessed, before he looked at Harry solemnly. "You must understand, Harry. These are very dangerous times. There are many threats we need to consider."

Harry did not speak again for a while, warring with himself quietly inside. He knew Dumbledore was right, but even so, he was still angry that Monday might not have been the only day Sirius had appeared in the fireplace, waiting for him to show up at midnight. And thinking about how that might have made Sirius feel when he was expecting him but found the common room empty for who knew how many times infuriated Harry.

"But after checking them and making sure they were safe, couldn't you then pass them onto me?" he asked, feeling deeply torn, trying to keep his tone respectful but his anger quickening and sharpening his words.

Dumbledore did not answer for a while until he finally looked up at Harry, his eyes filled with regret. "I hadn't the time, Harry. Consider the delicacy of your situation. I did not want you running after Sirius Black." The repentant gleam in the clear blue eyes was gone, replaced with a steady, authoritative look.

Dumbledore was right again but his actions still did not justify so many other things. He was not extremely angry with Dumbledore, but nor was he feeling particularly amicable towards him at the moment. He kept quiet for a few moments before he asked, "Sir, why's your hand still black?"

Dumbledore gave his blackened hand a cursory glance, and then smiled. "As my younger days are over, I, of course, tend to take longer than usual to heal," he chuckled.

Harry's face seemed to transform into stone. That chuckle again. Not wanting to attack the man for it, he asked shortly, "What time do we finish? I have to meet my friends at Hogsmeade at midday."

"Midday, you say?" mused Dumbledore, running a hand through his long beard. "I believe that will give us more than enough time to cover what we need to," he said kindly with smile.

Harry did not return it but merely nodded. "Thank you, sir."

The headmaster bowed. His manner quickly became serious. "You've been religiously practicing your meditation, I trust?" he asked, one corner of his lips twitching.

Harry remembered the one time when he had not done it. It had resulted in that terrible vision in which he learned about Voldemort latest machinations. Harry thought Dumbledore was remembering this as well. Harry gave a meek nod. His subsequent efforts were much more regular, however, he thought mutinously. It was only that one slip up and it had given him a heads-up; he was not sure if he regretted it completely or if he was grateful to have that vision.

Dumbledore smiled. "Excellent. Well then, Harry, I believe we're in a position to approach the skill of Occlumency."

Three mind-gruelling hours later Harry was free to go. Dumbledore give him a special permission letter to go to Hogsmeade in case of the remote chance any chaperoning professor spotted him and asked why he came so late. Harry suspected Dumbledore had Snape in mind particularly.

His mind numb and almost blank Harry went up to Gryffindor Tower to grab his Invisibility Cloak, the Marauder's Map, a fat sack of galleons and a light jumper before running to the statue of the one-eyed humpbacked witch on the third floor.

At twenty-five past eleven he emerged from the secret passage and sneaked into the Honeydukes store, where his eyes exploded in the visual ecstasy of colour and shape. Harry began attacking the shelves one after the other. He could seek out his friends after getting his shopping done. He took meticulous care in selecting his favourite delicacies from the old sweet shop: the obligatory jar of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, a few Chocolate Frogs, some Honeydukes Chocolates, and a handful of Fizzing Whizzbees. He minded the entire "Special Effects" aisle, which he knew was Ron's favourite area of the shop and he could ask for some from him later.

He stepped out of the store with a vastly lighter sack of galleons. He was still not used to spending a lot of money – he had never gotten used to having money living with the Dursleys and had to consciously force himself to buy more. He made a few more stops at other shops.

After emerging from a stationery store and dropping an inkwell into one of his pockets he held out his arm and his wristwatch read 11:42. He hurried up along the streets, weaving his way through a sea of milling shoppers and students towards the pub with the rusty sign depicting the decapitated head of a boar-hog.

He turned the last corner and before he could go further he caught a familiar sight with the corner of his eye. He turned around and it was not surprised to see platinum-blond hair. A little far off, Harry could see the taller, imposing figure of Lucius Malfoy looking down at his son, both wearing dark elegant Houdani couture. Harry frowned. Why was the younger Malfoy dressed up just as immaculately? It was true Malfoy ordinarily donned expensive designer apparel as casual wear when the school day was over. But now he looked dressed for an occasion.

Walking while looking in the opposite direction Harry swiftly found a wall of taught flesh. "Oomph!"

"Mr Potter."

Harry was bounced backwards and he regained his footing as he dazedly looked up at the tall, dark-clad figure of Professor Snape. The expression on his face was, as ever, undecipherable.

"Exactly why aren't you with equally insufferable comrades?" drawled the professor, with a raise of an eyebrow. "Then again, don't answer – I seem not to give a feathery owl's bottom about anything you have to say."

A cheeky retort hanging on his lips, Harry had been about to triumphantly whip out his special note from Dumbledore himself. But even as Snape spoke his black eyes had tilted up and focussed on something behind Harry, who turned around just in time to see the two Malfoys Disapparate into thin air. He turned back to Snape and frowned up at him.

Snape's cold black marbles sank down to his face. The man said nothing but held his face silently, and swooped off before Harry could blink. The blur of fluttering dark robes disappeared behind the corner.

Harry, unable to work out just what happened, headed for the Hog's Head as questions swirled around in his mind. What was with Snape? Why was Lucius Malfoy in Hogsmeade in the first place? And why did Malfoy follow him knowing he had to return to school? Unless he _wasn't_ returning to school.

Harry's pulse suddenly soared… What if Voldemort was giving Malfoy a mission? Or perhaps even the Dark Marked? Judging from the fancy clothes it would be like an official event or ritual. Or perhaps the Malfoys just normally wore clothes like that; they were, after all, part of high society.

He battled these thoughts even as he slipped through the doors of the Hog's Head. A thick, heavy air of dust, beer, and the general smell of too many people being in the same room engulfed him and awoken him from his thoughts. A voice stopped talking. Harry stopped at the door, losing his breath as he took in the number of Hogwarts students that had bombarded the small, derelict shop. He wanted to slip back outside into the cold more than anything else when a hundred eyeballs swivelled around onto him.

He gulped and very self-consciously made his way to the back of the shop where Ron and Hermione were waving almost theatrically him over, their teeth glistening in their huge grins on their faces. When he got to them it was clear their over-excitement was simply a cover for their nervousness. It looked like half of Hogwarts was in the room. Parvati had outdone herself.

Hermione deftly shrunk his parcels and he stowed them in his pockets, muttering his thanks. She matched the glare of one of the patrons, all of whom had been pushed out into the seats directly in front of the counter and all of whom were clearly annoyed by the unusual overcrowding.

"Harry, I was just telling them about the Defence club," she said, in business-like fashion. "We were deliberating on changing the name – or creating a name, I guess." As far as Harry knew he had heard only voice – Hermione's – speaking when he entering the store. Indeed 'we'. He nodded but kept his eyes on the ancient wooden tabletop. "So, guys," continued Hermione, "we were discussing the name. Any offers?"

"Why can't we just leave it as the Defence Club?"

Hermione did not even look in the way of the person who gave the suggestion.

"The Resistance."

Hermione's lips pursed impatiently. Even Ron thought it sounded tacky judging by his grimace.

"Kids of the Light, or the Light Kids."

Hermione's head tilted to one side. Harry could not tell whether she was thoughtful or in awe of the ridiculousness of the name. A few other students winced and at first it was not clear why. But then a rather over-weight girl to Harry's left, with a large, bulging face, chunky arms and a bright blue sweater in which Harry could fit five times swelled to twice her size and glared daggers at the person who suggested the title of 'Light Kids,' her tensed mouth disappearing between her two growing cheeks. She was clearly offended. Students around her took a step backwards fearfully or perhaps the girl's swelling had pushed them back.

"Dumbledore's Army."

At last Hermione seemed moved. "Dumbledore's Army is good! But don't you think we should use a more discreet name?" she said, as amicably as though the discussion had been an open one along, even though she had clearly given herself authority to pick and choose suggestions.

"It will only be us using the name, and it's not like we're going to spread the word," Ron said reasonably.

Murmurs broke out from the crowd. Harry could not tell if the students liked the name. Not that it mattered because Hermione seemed agreeable to it. "Of course _no one_is going to 'spread the word' because if you're joining Dumbledore's Army – the D. A., I guess – you'll be using an Enchanted Galleon." She pulled out of her pocket what appeared to be a standard, Gringotts-approvable Galleon. "Anyone who tries to rat us out will... well, let's just say the experience won't be pleasant."

The dark look in her eyes convinced many of this.

"We didn't say we're going to join this defence thing yet," piped up the blue-eyed Hufflepuff Ernie Macmillian haughtily, as though he was speaking on behalf of everyone. "How about a few words from the almighty leader?" The boy crossed his arms and stared at Harry expectantly.

Harry's liking for the boy instantly evaporated, as did the moisture in his throat. His face lost colour when he spotted Cho Chang watching him intently amongst the crowd, a touch of interest in her eyes. He turned to his two friends to beg them to turn the attention away from him, but Ron's pinched face and Hermione's shrug made it clear he was alone.

"Uhm, I... you... what do you want to know?" he managed to rasp helplessly.

Macmillian was quick to the word. "_Why_ should we join this _DA_thing?"

But Harry thought this was obvious. "Don't you want to learn to protect yourselves? And your loved ones? Voldemort-" There was a collective flinch and strangled whispers from the crowd "-is back, don't you get that? He's out there, doing something that believe me involves every one of us. I think..." Harry swallowed, bracing himself as he knew he would not be able to take back what he was about to say. "...I mean I _know_that as we speak Voldemort is planning to conquer Hogwarts."

But his words did not come with a wave of disbelieving murmurs and mocking stares as he had expected. There was merely stark silence amongst the Hogwarts students, the only noises to be heard still being the clatter of tanks, the low murmur of the patrons and Aberforth's clinking glasses as he wiped and placed them on the shelf behind him.

They probably thought he was crazy for his words.

Parvati Patil looked shocked even though it was not the first time she heard the news.

"Hogwarts?" It was Cho, and she sounded politely sceptic, not terrified as Harry expected.

Parvati immediately recovered from her shock and sharpened at Cho and Harry's interaction, resting her chin on the palm of her hand attentively, round blue eyes darting between the two of them.

"Yeah, I had a-" Hermione cleared her throat delicately. Harry was just about to say he had a dream. Perhaps mentioning dreams and visions would not be helpful to convincing the already dubious mass, doubtlessly made so with help from Ernie Macmillian. "Yeah, he wants to take over Hogwarts – it's fact. We just have to accept it and start to prepare, which is why this duelling club, er, Dumbledore's Army is important. We need to be prepared for anything. In battle…"

The word visible unnerved everyone. Harry could not believe he was using it, that it described quite accurately the situation in which they all found themselves. And Hermione was eyeing Harry appraisingly and soberly, watching him in action, trying to sway the crowd, taking his measure, watching him begin to lead.

"…There are no predictabilities, no... no..." Harry fought to find the right words. "...structure and going on about thing – it's just haphazard and unpredictable. Don't expect to go to classes and go to the Great Hall for lunch. There are no more guarantees, no more constants, no more things we can take for granted, no more trusting in the adults because they themselves can't control the circumstances and force us not to worry because we know what we have to do.

"These are our own lives, our own families. We need to protect them, we need to learn advanced defence so when the time comes-" Harry's throat almost closed up. "-we're ready and we can at the least minimize our losses because be very sure that the time _is_coming. I know Voldemort. I know he stops at nothing, cares about nothing, that he's only driven by pure evil, and I know he won't stop until he gets what he wants and for now that Hogwarts."

The silence was so absolute and so palpable Harry could almost feel it humming on his hands and face... A legion of eyes bored into him. He stared at them back, taking in their frozen expressions. Harry took it all in, watched them all intently, his emerald eyes burning.

"This is war."

* * *

"I have appealed your... predicament," came a smooth, detached-sounding drawl.

The slight, pale boy looked up through his silver-blond fringe at the cold, hooded silvery eyes fixed on him almost lazily, dispassionately. One of the man's hands was holding a tumbler of Malfoy chardonnay, the other laying on top of a snake cane resting on his crossed legs.

"Father?" whispered the boy, swallowing.

"I negotiated with our Lord to reconsider the extent of your punishment." The man's eyes sharpened as his face grew hard but then became lazy again. "It doesn't necessarily improve your situation. I might have slightly, depending on you look at it." The man delicately tilted the rest of his drink into his mouth and stood up in a single, elegant motion, his dark-green robes sweeping about his figure. "Severus will only be a few hours to see to it that you're adequately prepared for the occasion. I'll be in the library." With that the man swept out of the study, leaving his speechless son behind.

* * *

A few hours later found Harry, Ron and Hermione lazing around next to the tree overlooking the lake snacking on their Hogsmeade booty. This time thankfully they were not accompanied by Luna. Bubbles randomly popped on the surface of the lake, the sun shone high in the sky, and bevies of students traipsed about enjoying their day. Hermione asked how Harry's lesson had went with Dumbledore earlier.

"It was okay. A little rough but… I'll get the hang of it. Dumbledore," he replied. Dumbledore had been very patient with him. He wanted to talk about something else, however. "I saw Malfoy Disapparating away with his dad in Hogsmeade. He's probably not here right now," he told his two friends.

Hermione's eyebrows meshed together. "Malfoy went away with his dad? That's strange. Maybe he's getting Marked or something."

"That's what I thought…" Harry muttered darkly.

It struck Harry how they could speak of serious matters like this in such light tones on a fine, care-free Saturday afternoon. Were the three of them that used to the threat of the Dark Arts? That desensitized that they could talk about Dark Mark initiations in such a nice mood? So used to being surrounded by, anticipating and experiencing evil that it was brought up next to conversations about the weather?

"He's getting Marked," declared Ron, who did not need further proof.

Harry smiled mirthlessly. "I thought so too," he said quietly, his cheeks bulging with a mouthful of Every-Flavour Beans.

"And I didn't see Professor Snape with us when we were coming back," Hermione added. She slipped a Whizzy Boily in her mouth.

Harry stopped mid-chew and looked up at her. "He's a Death Eater!" he erupted. "I knew it, I-"

"Shush, Harry! You can't just scream things like that!" Hermione hissed.

He was not screaming – he was pointing out a fact. He reduced his volume and whispered passionately, "I knew it, he was always strange! I should've told Dumbledore! I mean it's the only logical explanation! Lucius Malfoy appears out of nowhere and grabs his son. Then Snape follows. And we already know Malfoy's father is a Death Eater for sure."

Hermione did not seem inclined to accept this wishy-washy theory but conceded there was some truth to Harry's words. "Maybe, Harry, but you can't just assume so much."

"He's not assuming anything," Ron chided, coming to Harry's aid, the brotherhood pact effecting. "We know Snape is a shifty slimy git, he's wanted the DADA job for years! And... he just looks… evil… like what a Death Eater would look like. You-Know-Who recruits people like him…"

"Do you even know what you're talking about?" Hermione asked him, with deadpan stare. "And exactly how do you know what Death Eaters look like, Ron?"

Ron shrugged a little sheepishly. "Black robes, evil face – the greasy git qualifies extravagantly. He's just all of evil combined, Hermione, it's true. Doling out detentions-"

Hermione let out a loud, humourless bark of laughter. "Oh yes, detentions are _so_ evil, I forgot!" she snorted severely. Harry winced.

"-Randomly and to Gryffindors especially," Ron continued, as though he had not been interrupted before engrossed himself in chewing his Pepper Imps.

Hermione shook her head and looked away. Her eyes narrowed shrewdly as she sucked on her sweet furiously, perhaps starting to question things. Her face changed completely, however, when her eyes fell on an approaching figure.

Startled by her silence Harry turned around to see what had captured her attention, and, to his dismay, saw Cho heading unmistakably their way. His stomach fell to the grass, his insides froze for a moment and the Pepper Imp in his mouth dissolved into ash as he watched the Chinese Ravenclaw gliding over the grass towards their spot, her long, ebony hair gleaming richly in the sunlight, a radiant smile so beautiful Harry could spot it even from as far as he stood.

"Harry," she giggled, flashing a bright smile.

Harry started backwards, blinking rapidly as though a fly had unexpectedly flown across his face. When did she get here? Harry shook out of his stupor and into attention. He squinted up at the sixth-year, clearing his throat and slipping the Pepper Imp under his tongue so she could not see it when he spoke (because eating candy is immature of course).

"Hi, Cho."

Hermione and Ron went suspiciously quiet at this point, but Harry was so focussed on not making a fool of himself in front of Cho as he had done last year he did not notice anything.

"How've you been?" she asked.

"Er, great, absolutely great, I guess," Harry laughed. "Er, you?"

She glanced at the other two. "I've wanted to talk to you about that."

"Oh," Harry said, still beamingly, "er, I—you—did you maybe want to talk somewhere?"

Cho nodded smilingly as Harry stood up. He turned to his friends, back to Cho, and could not decide what to do with himself. He made awkward and vague hand gestures, at which point Hermione and Ron decided to save Harry and took charge: they shooed him away, telling him wordlessly to take care of business. So he ambled aside Cho away from the lake, trying extremely hard not to squirm in the thick silence.

"So, you started a Defence club – the DA. It was really brave of you, Harry," she purred.

Harry blushed right to the tip of his hairs. "Erm, yeah, we sort of needed it, with this war thing." _Way to spoil the mood bringing in war issues, Harry!_

This seemed to set Cho off. "I was so miserable in the summer, Harry, thinking about him, you know?"

Apprehension seized Harry: he did not want to talk about Cedric and he hoped this was not about having a crying session over him, which he would not put past Cho, who was very tear-happy.

"I miss him so much, but… I have to move on, you know?" After staring at the ground for almost the entire time they had been walking she looked up to him, smiling in his face. "I have to start living my life like before... So... you seeing anyone?" she asked him suddenly with a sheepish giggle.

An eighteen-wheeler must have slammed into him because he experienced the same effects of trauma. It took a second or two for his brain to catch up to his ears but it was more than competent enough to send blazing heat rushing into his cheeks. "Er, not really," he told her, after he had half a mind to lie and say he was so he did not appear pathetic. "Haven't really had time, you know. There's—there's no one, really." _I'm really going to regret those 'really's some time later on..._

Cho nodded, biting her lip, and stopped walking, looking at him face to face. "Do you maybe want to have breakfast with me at the Ravenclaw table tomorrow? I mean me and my friends?"

Harry opened his mouth, brain working furiously and pumping more and more heat into his face. "Er, oh, wow, I—I—sure. Why not?" he blurted out, without consulting his brain. He felt utterly floored by the Bludger that had come out of nowhere. No self-respecting bloke would agree to sitting at the Ravenclaw table with the girl's giggling friends while they tried to make conversation.

Cho gave him a huge smile, deceiving him for a minute that he made the right choice.

"Great! I'll see you tomorrow then." Beaming, she glided away and joined her friends conveniently staring at them from a nearby stone bench a few yards from she and Harry had been standing. And they all exploded into shrieks of glee at once as soon as Cho came over.

Harry shot off in the opposite direction of that familiar, traumatizing noise and joined Ron and Hermione again beside the lake. Minutes later the three of them trooped back to Gryffindor Tower while Harry endured a slew of very embarrassing questions from his two insufferable, fiendish friends.

"Can you even call that a date?" Ron asked doubtfully when Harry told him about his breakfast unofficial date with Cho in the Great Hall the next morning. "A date in front of McGonagall?"

"Of course it is," said Hermione, even as her mouth twitched and as she avoided Harry's eyes. "It really doesn't matter where you have it. What matters is the two people involved."

"You mean about…" Ron looked over his shoulder at the bench where Cho was bashfully flapping her hands at her friends as she battled their questions. "…I'm counting seven, Harry," he observed, in at tone that advised that it was best Harry abort mission.

He could never get just one alone, could he? It was always a package!

At nearly two o'clock Angelina Johnson called the Gryffindor Quidditch team to the field to practice for the looming match against Ravenclaw. After a gruelling practice session ("She should marry Oliver," Ron grumbled), sweaty, muscle-cramped and bone-tired, the team trudged back to Gryffindor Tower in the golden sunset. After their showers Harry and Ron played games in the common room to pass the time. They did not escape homework of course, completing it under the watchful eye of Hermione.

Harry retired to the dormitory quite early into the night. After an enduring session of Occlumency at eight in the morning and going to Hogsmeade, after the stress of beginning to lead the DA with so many people looking up to him, the mysterious moment with the two Malfoys and Snape, and the whole Cho thing, not to mention, Harry wearily climbed into his four-poster, drew up his curtains and, without doing his regular meditation, plunged into unconsciousness. Or so he thought...

* * *

He is on a large bed covered with a silk emerald quilt. An intricately carved mahogany canopy looms overhead, bearing a large fussy crest with the name Malfoy ostentatiously engraved into it. The room in which he finds himself is large and dark-lit, illuminated only by the soft orange embers of the fireplace. It heats up the air into a warm and calming mood, and warm and calm is what he exactly feels… Beneath this serenity runs a current of anticipation and perverse indulgence, and at once it terrifies him more than the soft, romantic glow of the room does and entices him, offers him a taste so hellishly small about something so perfect to come he has to suppress a lust-riddled growl that escapes his lipless mouth. Ah, yes… He could feel it, his breathless excitement coursing through his dry veins… To corrupt, to indulge, to defile, to humiliate! Yes, he's waiting for something, some_one_perhaps…

A door to the left at the opposite end of the rooms slowly opens almost inconspicuously, almost apologetically. Harry barely holds onto his heart as it surges and thunders when his eye locks on the ornate door. Slowly it reveals the hem of an emerald robe, so darkly green they seem black in the soft light. His excitement leaps as finally the door is merciful and fully admits a short, slender form: long, platinum-blond hair carelessly falling on the back, arranged around a handsome, bloodless face; pale feet peeking out from under the robes; and dulled, resigned grey eyes fall upon him as Draco Malfoy stands at the foot of his bed. Harry hears himself give a leering hiss but his shame can no longer hold his lust.

But he remains motionless, and lies back and watches the youngest Malfoy climb onto his bed. The boy stops in the middle of the bed, next to his legs, sitting on his haunches, clasping both hands in each other, and bows his head.

"My Lord."

There had been a time when he sounded like, but he could not remember it. Ah, the fine, unblemished tenor of youth, sweetened by such sweet deference. It makes his dried, empty veins boil. It makes Harry smiles and stokes the light in his red, heartless slits.

"Draco..." The cold relish locked in his words is almost palpable.

Innocent flesh lies mere inches from him. So pale as almost to be ethereal, so pure and pliable skin. Sinuous, working joints – the art of form, so fresh in being, the elbows and knees perfected, the curve of the neck unfathomable to even Merlin himself. Draco – hunched, defeated and expecting to be done. Fingers so beautiful, long, pale, thin, immaculate, pure – pure of corrupting evil, pure of all crimes. A complete creation. Spoiled not by acts against nature… Unable to hold back his deviousness, Harry's white, spidery hand blurs forward and clenches around a delicate wrist, pulls the body onto his own; his green skin breaths in innocence, but never redeemed. And downcast grey slates sparkle into terror.

"Draco…" A low, hungry, sibilant caress.

The boy averts his eyes, looking at Harry's chest, rearranging himself awkwardly on his thighs. It roils Harry – he wants the boy to look into his red slits, wants him to look into the eyes of the one who will rob him of his purity once and for all and do the world a better good and rid it of its foil.

"Look at me, Draco," he commands.

The boy hesitates for a moment, white eyelashes fluttering, pale throat swallowing. He finally lets his silver eyes rise and the meet his own, and they glitter only with fear. He finally sees his face properly: so flawless, artistic, blemish-less – an artist's aspiration to capture; lips, small, thin, and shell-pink – a drawer's dream to design on canvas. Harry smiles.

"I find myself attracted to corrupting the innocent," he says in a soft, seductive hiss.

The tongues of the fire throw glowing shadows across Draco's face. Doleful eyes glimmer. The wrist in his hand is limp, resigned hopelessly to the grip, the other clutching and releasing the silk bedding. Harry can feel the humming song of life beneath those thin robes of his, can feel the heat of warm flesh against his own, can feel his body shaking, and it's calling for him. It is his to take.

"Remove your robe."

Robotically, the boy's hands rise to slip off the robe. Long fingers clasp emerald silk and pull, exposing... a lustful sigh... exposing a pale, unmarred chest, so perfect in its perfection, glowing in the tangerine light. Pink nipples stand attentive, despite the warm air – fright, perhaps. Harry does not care either way; he was not for reciprocation – he was for absolute domination. Ah, bony shoulders are exposed, torso, ribs, a slight suggestion of abs... Harry looks down... a small patch of blond tufts cushioning a limp manhood. Harry dismisses the organ – the attention was not to be on it but on his. His cold, scarlet eyes take in the small thighs, the flawless knees, the legs, the petite, aristocratic feet that have never seen the ground bare – beautiful. Too innocent.

For a few moments Harry lets his hands just... roam, rove over and explore the expanse of luscious, luxurious skin; he lets himself feel the abundance of a nature he could never approach, one he had longer ago forsaken. Why had he not thought of this before? His hands, greedy and possessive, slowly travel along the boy's legs, his thighs, his hips, ribs, armpits, shoulders, arms, forearm, wrist, hands, forearm again, arm again, shoulders again, neck, face, hair… The boy is shaking all over. How sweet. Harry almost titters.

"Why are you afraid, Draco?"

The boy gasps. "Not afraid, my Lord. I'm yours."

And so went his restraint. His manhood gives a lurching throb. The boy feels it rise against his thigh, grows still immediately, and Harry smiles balefully. His one hand goes over the boy's back, strongly caresses a bum cheeks, and then delves into that delectable, hot, hairless crack with a long finger. Draco releases a shaky gasp. Harry is delighted and somewhat disappointed by what he finds.

"You're prepared."

Rugged breathing. "Yes, my Lord."

"Take off my robe."

The boy does not move at first, but then, hesitant to touch, his shaking hands come up and pull away his robe, giving the boy a first glimpse at pale, reincarnated flesh. He gapes wordlessly, his eyes grow wide. Only now he begins to truly understand what he is in for. Harry shrugs off the robes and let them fall to the floor. He lies back, reclining on the large continental pillow behind him, and a cold smile curves his mouth. His almost fluorescent penis stands at attention right before the boy's eyes.

"You know your charge, pet – get on with it," Harry hisses.

Inaction.

Harry knows that the boy is horrified at being taken like this. It would be better, in the boy's opinion, if Harry took him from behind like a common mutt. No. Harry wants to see the boy's face when he rocks on his penis, wants to see all those humiliated small expressions. Yes, he most definitely wants to fuck with the boy's mind too.

Draco closes his eyes and braces himself.

_He should learn the limit of my patience_, Harry thinks darkly.

Draco opens his eyes and slowly moves to straddle the vile creature properly. His hand goes behind, tentatively grips the disgusting organ, and aligns it with his puckered hole. Severus had given him various potions to ease the pain that was to come and stretch his anus so the penis would not make a rough entrance. Getting his breathing under control and his faculties about him, Draco plunges down and hole swallows the head of the penis: a horrified whimper issues from his shell-pink lips.

This elicits a hiss of satisfaction from Harry. Unable to control himself any longer, he grasps the boy's small hips and brings them down on his penis. The boy gasps, scrunching his eyes closed, fisting his hands. Harry's vice-like grip lifts the boy and slams him down again. Draco balances himself by resting his outstretched hands on Harry's chest, his head thrown back by the force of Harry's pump action. Harry growls again and pounds into the young, warm heat of that hole...

The boy is near crying, but Harry does not care, he only cares for his completion. Would he climax? Would he not? His body has been a tomb of dry dust for so long. Perhaps he will.

"My Lord," the boy whimpers pathetically, in a plea for him to stop, his face shining with tears.

"Bring out the whore in you, Draco!" Harry spits, violently sexing the boy. "Come on, no one is watching!"

* * *

A gasp and a loud thud broke the silence in the fifth-year boys' dormitory. Harry had woken up and fallen off his bed, coughing dryly, heart beating monstrously inside his chest. He heard his friend leaping out of his bed. He could not breathe! He drew in ragged breaths and his feet scrambled for traction. Gripping the edge of his bed he hauled himself up and felt himself getting sick. Ron appeared in the feeble sliver of moonlight seeping through the window and lifted him from under his armpits.

"Harry, what's wrong?"

Idle questions, idle worry.

Harry wiped his wet face, the back of his shirt also drenched in sweat, and turned round, bulging eyes on his friend's anxious but knowing expression.

"Ron! Malfoy! It—I—I Voldemort he-" Harry stood up and shakily stumbled to the bathroom, making it just in time for his already ejected vomit to leap over the rim of the seat and into the bowl. He wretched into the toilet, steadying himself as both hands held onto the lid. When there was nothing left to hurl, and the warm, sour taste of it coated his tongue, he stood up in front of the basin and rinsed his mouth.

But despite emptying his stomach, absolute disgust still gurgled within it. He rubbed his eyes until they turned red, unable to banish the horrible images from his mind, the feelings. He would not curse anyone with that hellish punishment – not even his arch nemesis, not even Draco Malfoy.

He stepped out of the bathroom and back into the dormitory.

Ron tentatively offered him a Chocolate Frog and asked, "Harry, mate, what did you see?"

Harry grimaced in thanks, unable to smile, and took the sweet confectionery. He shook his head at the question – he could not tell. He could not... breathe life into that sickening sight. _Merlin, bloody, Merlin…_

"What did you see, Harry?" Ron prodded again.

With a great deal of effort Harry commanded his feet to stop pacing so he could look squarely at Ron. "It was—it was... Draco..." The name was only a whisper, a sorrowful sigh. "...How—how can that be? I saw him today with his father, but..."

"Harry, what are you talking about?" Ron asked delicately once more, and alarm had kept crept into his voice.

"What's going on?" The other boys started waking up, disturbed by the noises. Seamus, Dean and Neville squinted at them from their individual beds, frowning grumpily and yawning.

"Sorry, guys," Harry said.

"Everybody, go back to sleep – Harry's fine," Ron ordered the other boys, who immediately obliged with grunts.

"Harry, what did you see?" Ron hissed for the third time, looking more worried with every attempt.

Harry did not know if he could tell Ron. It was beyond disturbing. It was unfathomable: if Harry told Ron to think of the worst possible thing that could be done to Malfoy without killing or hurting him near fatally there would not any length of time he could take until he came up with rape. Harry simply could not discuss his dream. Draco experienced all of that... that pain and humiliation. And if he told Ron, undoubtedly he would make sure Malfoy suffered even more humiliation; Ron never pretended to like him. But even this was... even here, Harry drew the line – nobody deserved to be raped by an old, reincarnated megalomaniac like that. No bloke deserved to be stripped of his pride and have it defaced by another man's seed.

It could not have been voluntarily, it absolutely could not. Why ever would Draco want to be raped by Voldemort? Or even want to have sex him and risk the occasion turning violent? And, Merlin, he, Harry, had seen all of it, experienced all of that – the evil anticipation, the indulgence in corruption, the virtues of Malfoy, the very pleasure of sex, at the _cost_ of Malfoy... He would not forgive himself for this. It was true he could never escape his nightmares until the very moment Voldemort could no longer contain his gasping excitement and unstoppable fury and unleashes a terrible spell of torture or a swift kill by his wand. And tonight was no different: he could not exit his dream until Voldemort unleashed a different sort of gasping excitement. It was not his fault, but he had never ever had a dream so vivid that it could have been him under Malfoy and the experience therein so pleasurable and that it felt wrong. Nothing that felt so good could be godly.

And still, it was he who had not meditated and therefore let himself into the experience. It was because of this that he saw and felt what he did.

But now that he bore such horrid witness, would he choose to ignore it, push it aside? Harry could not just leave Malfoy suffering like that. Not even Malfoy. Malfoy must not have wanted that… that was unthinkable. As he stood Voldemort was raping Draco, desecrating his innocence, torturing his body and soul and mind – he could not just stand here and let it happen and give himself a share of the blame as large as that of Voldemort himself, the one who touched him.

"I have to tell Dumbledore," were Harry's first words to Ron after he emerged from the toilet. But then he thought about it further: Dumbledore. Where was Dumbledore when he had to tell him about his dream of Voldemort planning to take over Hogwarts? Somewhere away from Hogwarts and came back injured with a black, shrivelled hand. Where had Dumbledore been? That was not important now – what was important was Malfoy, and despite Dumbledore's apparent uselessness, Harry still had to try something – he could not just let things lie and happen. Harry concluded that he had to go to Dumbledore in spite of his rapidly plummeting faith in the man.

He stopped pacing, stood still for a split-second, and then grabbed his school robe and bolted out of the fifth-year-boys' dormitory without so much as a second glance or an explanation to Ron, leaving the redhead stunned and his Chocolate Frog on his bed, only bitten once to remove the aftertaste of vomit. It was not fair to his friend: Ron was always the first person to console him whenever he came out of his terrible visions, and he could not even afford him a modicum of explanation? It was inconsiderate, but now, as he skipped three stairs at a time and hurtled across the common room towards the portrait hole, he resolved that he would deal with the Gryffindor later – now was no time to nurse ties of friendship.

He knocked the portrait aside and tore down the corridors towards the headmaster's office for the second time that day. Torch brackets and portrait frames blurred past, cobblestone disappeared under his feet, his breaths wheezed laboriously in the corridor, his robes fluttered angrily behind him.

He saw the familiar, admittedly comforting sight of the phoenix gargoyle guarding the entrance of the headmaster's office. But what about his story? Was it legitimate? Was his worry legitimate? Would he even be believed? It was so unthinkable it defied credulity.

"Lemon Drops!"

Stone leapt aside and stone ground upwards, and Harry was further unsettled by the slow, graceful spiral of the stairs, the sudden lack of motion making him feel as though his blood and the adrenaline in was not moving, as though the adrenaline began to saturate in his veins as his mind stretched into a million different directions. Was his story legitimate? It was Saturday, it had been a Hogsmeade weekend, Malfoy Disapparated from the village with his father somewhere, presumably where they lived, and Snape apparently had not returned to Hogwarts after Harry had seen him eye the two Malfoys strangely back after he had bumped into him. He had sufficient reason to disturb the headmaster at this time of the night. Harry was just about to start hopping from foot to foot on the stairs in agitation, just to unsettle his adrenaline from the bottom of his veins, it felt, when they ground to a halt. He rushed forward and banged on the large doors.

"Come in!"

Harry bounded into the office without another second wasted but stopped short at the sight that greeted him.

Harry stared into the cold depths of two black marbles.

"Mr Potter. And exactly what brings you here at these hours of the night? Surely it can't be for another bad dream – the headmaster has far direr matters to handle than to console emotional disasters such as yourself."

Was he right to come here? Was he really wasting Dumbledore's time? The man had to have been recovering from his injury on top of repelling Voldemort's skirmishes (there was not one tonight of course). Harry's uncertain gaze fell upon his headmaster.

Dumbledore was smiling. "Forgive your professor here, Harry. He's not in his – shall we daresay – lighter moods." He made himself chuckle.

That chuckle.

"WHY DO YOU DO THAT?" Harry bellowed. And only afterwards did he realize what he had done. But for many weeks Dumbledore had given that strange chuckle. It scared Harry more than he would care to admit, and this, combined with his suddenly newfound doubt about reporting his latest vision to him courtesy of Snape's snide comment, had driven him over the edge and he burst.

"Excuse me, Headmaster, I don't think students are to address their superiors with such impertinence," Snape said, before he continued, in the same indulgent, silky tone his voice took on whenever he was about to do something nastily unfair. "I would dearly love to have Mr Potter here for detention for that breach of propriety."

"I agree with Professor Snape," said a snide voice from above them. "Dumbledore, I honestly don't understand why you allow yourself to be-"

"Thank you, Phineas," said Dumbledore, cutting short a chorus of assenting noises from the other portraits clamouring for Harry's head. "It's all right, Severus," Dumbledore said, without turning to look at the man, who was standing next to him from behind his desk. "I'm sure Harry here is under a lot of stress – it's absolutely human." Phineas Nigellus Black snorted loudly for all to hear. "Harry, would you like to explain yourself?"

"That laugh that you do!" Harry shouted breathlessly. "You did it right now! Are you dying or something? You did it even before you got that!" He pointed an accusatory finger at the headmaster's deadened hand.

Snape's eyes bored into Harry, quietly, cunningly assessing.

Dumbledore's eyes told so much: they were sad and deep, all the twinkle gone, leaving dull, cerulean desolation.

"You have nothing to worry about – I'm perfectly fine."

"Bollocks!"

Snape glared murderously while a few portraits hissed angrily at Harry. "Just as foul-mouthed as his father, it's no surprise. Potter, you don't know what you're talking about and you're out of your depth! I suggest you keep a firm reserve on that tongue of yours before I have it licking the spare cauldrons in my closet, is that understood?"

Harry had only seen Snape so animated before at the end of his third year when Snape had been furious that the Minister would not attempt to look for and arrest Sirius, with whom he shared a fierce childhood rivalry. Harry matched Snape's glare and then some, his mind now quite far away from trivial things such as consequence and punishment, and he was still holding onto his suspicions about him, despite his redeeming if unexpected presence.

"Never mind, Severus," Dumbledore said, "let the boy have his say. However, I'm going to have to insist you mind your language, Harry."

Harry's chest heaved rapidly and his eyes blazed at the both of them. He did not know what to do with himself.

Dumbledore eye's wandered down to his table top for a moment. He then looked up back at Harry with a bleak smile. "I think it's time I started to be truthful towards you, Harry – you deserve it."

Snape suddenly turned to him. "And _I_think you shouldn't submit to the erratic whims of a disturbed teenager, Headmaster-!"

"As much as I value your opinion, my dear Severus, I think Harry has raised an important issue," Dumbledore countered, cutting across the other man, even as he seemed reluctant. "Moreover, as situations have grown increasingly urgent, it's only prudent I give Harry the necessary information."

Harry could sense a 'before something happens' clause hovering at the end of those words. Not only was he disconcerted about the vision he saw of Malfoy and Voldemort, but he also had to face yet another urgent matter in this very office. There was something the two men in front of him were not telling him.

Snape whirled around to Dumbledore, black robes flapping. "Albus, this is not necessary!" he hissed in the older man's face, seemingly forgetting that Harry was standing in front of them.

"Severus, you and I both know of the extent of my predicament and it is only fair that I tell Harry what I need to."

Snape glared long and furiously at Dumbledore, clearly refusing to back down, but at Dumbledore's steady match with his piercing if still dull blue eyes, he relented, and slowly the potions master hauled himself up back to his fullest height, rounded the desk, and swept over to the door after giving Harry a blazing glare even more scorching than his perfunctory ones – it almost looked like pure hatred.

This left Harry and Dumbledore the only two souls in the room, with the exception of Fawkes, who was sitting watchfully on her perch. Every portrait lining the wall of the office were watching them intently, trumpets already in place in their ears. They must have had been paying attention in Snape and Dumbledore's meeting as well before he arrived.

"Have a seat, Harry," Dumbledore offered with his healthy hand.

Harry slowly went over to the chair in front of Dumbledore's desk and took his seat.

"First of all, do you want to tell me why you abandoned the warm comfort of your bed to have a chat with your headmaster?" Dumbledore smiled at him.

Harry's brain shuddered to a halt here. But it did not take long to remember why he was here.

"Voldemort's...Voldemort's..." he stuttered, his face pinching as the images quickly rushed back to him.

Dumbledore raised a silver eyebrow and gave him an encouraging smile, silently reminding Harry that this man was one of the few people who took him at his word even without evidence, and would not ridicule him as Snape just did only moments before. Emboldened, Harry tried again, vaguely registering a brief, melodious note from the scarlet phoenix behind him.

"In my dream," he sighed uneasily, "Malfoy – Draco Malfoy, was with Voldemort. They were in a room and, and... Voldemort, he was... was raping him."

There, it was said – it was out. The word not would never to touch his lips ever again. Harry nonetheless averted his gaze to the floor, whereupon he waited for the thoughtful silence to end. He was used to it: Harry would tell Dumbledore something, and the man would remain quiet for several seconds to absorb and weigh his words.

Phineas Nigellus Black blinked down at Harry, and then his sly little eyes bounced around at his fellow portraits. "Pardon me, dear man," he whispered, to an adjacent portrait of a portly man who wore pyjamas so colourfully loud it was done on purpose and who appeared just as Confunded he was. "But, did I just hear what I thought I heard?"

"Voldemort was with Mr Malfoy, and he was sexually forcing himself onto him?" asked Dumbledore slowly and pensively.

The mouth of the stoutly man had opened on the verge of replying to Black, but as soon as Dumbledore's words registered, his jaw fell lower onto his vast lap, and Black, now quite needless of clarification, stared at Dumbledore as though he had just said something blasphemous. Sharing this reaction were the rest of the portraits, who boasted various personalities and a few enmities with each other but were now united in shock.

Harry was unfoundedly uncomfortable with the question, and he squirmed a little in his seat. "Yes. He—well, Malfoy came into the room and went over to him. But I—he was maybe forced into that situation. It couldn't have been what he wanted." Harry grimaced as the words left a taste of bile in his mouth.

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully at this. "Well I must confess this isn't Voldemort's style. As much as he relishes in defiling everything he can, sexually assaulting young boys isn't – or wasn't rather – one of them..."

"I certainly hope not," coughed Black, looking thoroughly disturbed.

They ignored this. Harry kept silent, barely surviving the awkward moment. They were talking about a bloke he knew here, being raped, as they spoke. "It's happening right now," he said, suddenly as urgently as he had ran to the office.

Dumbledore held his eyes. "Harry-" It was a solemn and sombre voice, and Harry was familiar with it. "-I would very much like to rescue Mr Malfoy from this unthinkable ordeal, but he has parents and his situation is too tenuous to bother."

There were three full seconds of silence. Harry was amazed at this. "So you're just going to let him suffer? Voldemort is hurting him right now! As we speak!"

"I understand that, Harry. However-"

"You're just going to let him bleed and go through that—that—all of that and not help him?" Harry raged.

"Think, Harry," said Dumbledore, a little sternly, his blue eyes steadily levelled at Harry's enraged green eyes. "First of all, we would need to find Malfoy Manor, and I believe it to be Unplottable since its establishment centuries ago. Secondly we would need permission from Mr Malfoy's parents to remove him from the manor if we were to even locate it in the first place, and to the best of my knowledge, Malfoy senior wouldn't be too inclined to letting his son be removed by me or any other person on this side of the war as it would undoubtedly attract questions about his allegiance to Lord Voldemort. And thirdly, what you have seen may have been a fabrication of Voldemort's, possibly to lure you into his hands, capitalizing on your goodness, Harry! We have had only one session – you are not adequately skilled in Occlumency to rule out the possibility of a false vision being implanted into your mind."

There was another dead silence in the room: the portraits had ceased their muttered discussions and Fawkes had stopped chewing on his bones.

Harry reeled from every blow Dumbledore's sobering words dealt. "But he... he's hurting... Voldemort's... hurting him," he sighed weakly, pathetically.

Dumbledore's eyes were sympathetic but firm. "I understand, Harry, but at the moment I'm afraid we can't do anything unless either one of Mr Malfoy's parents personally reach out to us, the odds of which are, I personally think, astronomically improbable."

Harry stared back at Dumbledore quietly.

"I suspect this might perhaps be a punishment of some kind for Mr Malfoy's failure to do something, a certain task – Voldemort is not a tolerant man, and this new development is certainly uncharacteristic of him. Perhaps he was punishing Draco for something he or his father didn't or couldn't do – all assuming, of course, that your vision was true."

Harry had always loathed Voldemort, but this was a new low, even for Voldemort, he felt... This validated a new, different, more intense, incandescent hatred within Harry. By the gods, he saw that face every day, attended class with him; he was a regular feature in Harry's life – true, an awfully irritating and pestering feature but still an intimate, well-known and accustomed-to feature. Of all the ways he had anticipated Voldemort beginning to make his destructive presence felt in Harry's life, this one – raping not just a random schoolmate, but someone he knew, knew every pitch of his voice, knew that he had grey eyes and white-blond hair, knew that he crossed his legs and tucked his hair behind his ear, someone had taken for granted he would have to tolerate seven years of his life, someone arguably as close to him as any other House mate – was by far the least expected.

And the saddest thing of all was that Malfoy was probably the most pro-Dark Lord student in the entire school. And for Voldemort to punish even his own sycophants like this was… not shocking but still almost cruel... Harry was beginning to realize what Voldemort was, only now beginning to grasp the full depth of his darkness.

Even though he had heard that cold, high-pitched voice command Wormtail to kill Cedric – and he felt nervous merely thinking it – it was 'just' murder – clean, swift, and clinical. But now... rape, torture – it was something else. It was playing with the mind; it was damaging the soul, without all of which the body cannot hope to survive. Voldemort was something else… He was truly incapable of mercy, incapable of any human emotion not in the negative side of the spectrum. He was heartless in the absolute sense of the word; he defined it.

This was sick – deeply, deeply sick. Voldemort was out there right now, doing the same or worse to other people who might even be his own. He had to be removed, just as he had removed countless other people, just as he struck down all those other souls without a second thought. Harry's rage was silent, pure harmony, like quiet, efficient clockwork.

_I'm coming for you, Voldemort._

And with that, his hands flew up to his face instinctually as Dumbledore's office exploded in front of their eyes. Shards of glass and metal and wood showered the floor, staining the red carpet like colourful, jagged pebbles washed out on shore.

Harry kept his protective posture until the last fragment hit the floor. He slowly emerged from his protective cage of limbs, let his arms and knees fall, and his eyes took in all the damage he knew he had made. Most of Dumbledore's precious whizzing, smoking trinkets lay in shattered pieces on the floor, lying there in broken community, and the few that had partly survived did not have a prayer of working any longer. The window out of which Dumbledore looked with his hands clasped behind his back had been shattered clear off its frame.

In the chaos the inkpot atop Dumbledore's table had now splattered its contents all over his desk and on the man's face and beard, as though accentuating the symbolism behind his blackened hand. Was this a bad omen? Dumbledore, covered in more black, more dying, dyeing black? Harry sat in his chair, wide-eyed, scarcely believing what he had done, but Dumbledore was wearing a huge smile on his inked face.

"Professor, I'm so sorry..." he breathed, averting his eyes to the damage he had caused rather than having to deal with Dumbledore's unnerving smile. He noticed that all the portraits were empty of their occupants and left various pieces of furniture overturned beneath stretches of clear, muddy-brown background.

"It's quite all right, Harry," Dumbledore said kindly. "I've been battling to tidy up this space since I took this office. Consider it having done me a great service." Dumbledore smiled again, his blue eyes twinkling for the first time that evening, which could not have looked more ridiculous with black ink splattered all over him.

"Wer—weren't they important?" Harry uttered in dismay, as he gazed around the tattered office. And Dumbledore's amusement while they sat amidst disaster was not helping his nerve.

Dumbledore then frowned a little. "Some maybe, most were not," he laughed.

Harry still could not dig himself out of his pit of guilt. "I'll go get a broom," he said, jumping up to his feet, a leg outstretched towards the door.

At this strong suggestion of his leave, most people began returning to their portraits and nervously assumed their seats. Dumbledore left his as he rose. "That isn't necessary, Harry. You needn't go anywhere." He took out his wand and gave it a few flicks: the pieces of glass and other various materials on the floor instantly disappeared, leaving the room clean and presentable once more, only much less cluttered. He also whirled his wand around himself and the ink stains were siphoned off as though they had never been there. Harry looked up to Fawkes' perch, hoping she was not injured, but saw her raising an infantile head of its ashes after she had burnt up. This led him to look down at his wristwatch but it was not there, as he had rushed here almost immediately after waking up from his nightmare. But he knew that Fawkes burning up meant it was just midnight since she burned up on Sundays.

Dumbledore fashioned his familiar a proud glance before turning his eyes back on Harry, and his smile slowly fell.

The last to return and proven least brave, Phineas Nigellus Black finally peeked from behind the edge of his portrait, and apparently deeming it safe to return, he sidled in but no further than a few feet from the edge in case something else catastrophic happened no doubt, nervously twiddling his silk-gloved hands and watching Harry warily, waiting to see if he might explode again.

Harry felt Dumbledore's unmoving gaze scorch him. In the midst of his guilt and agitation he was just about to blurt out something rude, but Dumbledore finally spoke.

"What were you feeling, Harry?" he asked.

Harry blushed. "Er..." But then it suddenly hit him. "...I was angry."

"And what made you angry?"

Harry gazed back into the blue eyes, which he was stunned to see were invigorated by a new life that had been absent ever since the man had returned weakened from wherever and had sat in that chair behind him, frail and fading… But now, Harry drew strength from their strength.

"Voldemort."

Dumbledore smiled and nodded sagely. "You can channel this positively, Harry – you just have to focus!" With the speed of a man ten times younger he suddenly came round his desk and stood in front of Harry, an excited gleam in his eyes.

"Take out your wand!"

It took Harry a moment to react, thrown off by the non sequitur command, and when he did get his bearings back his hand searched under his cloak automatically, but he didn't find it. In all his haste to get to this office he had forgotten his one instrument of survival under his pillow back in Gryffindor Tower, and he was leading a defence club?

His cheeks blazed again. "I—I—don't have it." He felt less sheepish and more disappointed with himself, especially in the light of this new burning titillation of inspiration flowing from Dumbledore, whose smiling face did not crumble at the bad news.

"Go get it."


	8. It Crumbles From Within

**Chapter 8**

**It Crumbles From Within**

Harry ran. The air split open in front of him, the world flew past. He tore down the dark corridors, half knowing, half-unknowing of why he was running so fast, why he was going back to fetch his wand, what Dumbledore had in store for him, but he was excited.

Then, a powerful force hit his chest, crushed his heart, stopping it, twisted it in its grip, and did not let go. So powerful it made him lightheaded, so the sight in front of him must be a hallucination.

"Draco."

Time stilled, expanded, solidified, filled the space between Harry's cells, between his eyes, between him and that boy in front of him – barely standing, tittering on the vestiges of his balance and holding onto the last remnants of his pride, hardly moving forward in the dim torchlight of the hallway.

"Draco."

Categorically stunned, every process in his mind and seemingly his body screeching to a deafening halt, green eyes swollen and glazed over – seeing everything, aware of everything, unseeing, aware of nothing else, Harry was not standing there but was frozen by a power that could not be of human function.

"Draco."

Pale face – paler than usual – shining with tears, bare feet staggering.

Another blow slammed into Harry, this one from the back, and he found himself running towards the figure.

"Draco! Christ… Draco!"

As soon as he came within reach the other boy's arms flung around him. Harry grabbed on tightly as they dropped to the floor. Draco was hyperventilating, and he was holding onto Harry as though his very life depended on it.

"Potter."

His name was spoken in that same broken voice that Harry had heard in the dream... nightmare... only minutes or perhaps hours ago.

"It's okay, it's okay. He's not here…"

Straddling Harry and shivering from head to toe, Draco started crying openly, gripping the Gryffindor so tightly he felt his nails digging into him. But Harry did not care, running over with worry and sympathy… They sat there in the middle of the corridor, holding each other in its wan torchlight, Draco's broken pants the only noise around.

Harry was not thinking about his arch nemesis crying on him – he thought about a boy, Draco, needing comfort from a terrible ordeal only imaginable by the most tainted of minds. He could not even fathom going through what Draco had, so he cried along with him. His previous mission forgotten, he rubbed Draco over consolingly close. If it was proudly unappreciated, at the least he was providing a warm structure by which Draco could get himself together. His own vision was blurred by his tears, but he saw well enough to notice a shadow flitting past them from far-off window… Night never bore good things, only shadows and acts of pure evil.

A few minutes later Draco calmed down significantly: he was breathing almost evenly and his grip on Harry had somewhat relaxed. And now that the moment of raw crisis and heightened emotion was gone, Harry was swiftly awakened to their intimate positions.

…_A short, slender form: long, platinum-blond hair carelessly falling on the back, arranged around a handsome, bloodless face; pale feet peeking out from under the robes…_

Harry stilled his calming motions, green eyes stunned.

_So pale as almost to be ethereal, so pure and pliable skin… Fingers so beautiful, long, pale, thin, immaculate, pure…_

Harry, in panic and self-disgust, delicately extracted himself from the boy. Draco did not resist and let go of Harry-

…_Feel the heat of warm flesh against his own, can feel his body shaking, and it's calling for him. It is his to take._

-And his face tilted up, eyes still watery but not spilling over, complexion even ghostlier than usual, white-blond hair falling over his shining eyes – beautiful.

_...Face… so flawless, artistic, blemish-less – an artist's aspiration to capture; lips, small, thin, and shell pink – a drawer's dream to design on canvas…_

___"Not afraid, my Lord, I'm yours."___

_"Not afraid, Harry, I'm yours."___

_It is his to take.___

_Mine._

"Potter?"

Harry flung himself off Draco completely and started backing up away from him, averting his eyes. The cold hard bricks of the wall stabbed his back and he covered his face in shame, and for a while remained like that. But then he looked up out of his fierce self-admonition to see Draco limping up the corridor leading to Dumbledore's office. Berating himself harshly once more for his inconsiderateness he stood up and trotted over to him.

"Draco, what—where are you going?"

"The name is Malfoy and stay away from me, Potter."

The words were like a cold, rough slap to the face. "You ju—I held you and all you can say is, 'Get away from me, Potter'?" He was not indignant at all, only incredulous.

"Yes, Potter. I would have known if you had a hearing problem. Now – get – away – from me."

Harry stared at the closed-off silver orbs of Malfoy's eyes as he kept up with the Slytherin up the corridor. Suddenly, overwhelmed by a rage he could not quite account for, he grabbed the other boy and slammed him against the wall and did not falter at Malfoy's look of sheer terror.

"Listen here!" Harry snarled. "I know what you went through, okay? I saw all of it!"

As suddenly as he had sprung from, his rage was stifled; Harry could not continue his diatribe at Malfoy's once-more shaking form and his horrified expression when he heard him.

Thick silence descended upon them, stifling everything that air around them and last of Harry's flared anger. Then, with a small, tenuous voice, Draco asked, "You... saw everything he... did to me?"

"Yes, Draco," sighed Harry. "I have a connection with Voldemort through my scar."

Draco gaped, silver eyes caught between a defensive glare and a vacant, despairing stare at a distance. Malfoy he began fighting off Harry's grip, limbs flailing, but Harry danced this dance with him and fought to keep him from turning away and walking off. Malfoy was absolutely enraged, but as suddenly as he had started he stopped.

"What do you want from me?" demanded the tearful Slytherin. Harry guiltily loosened his grip and Malfoy used the opportunity to shake off the last grip Harry had on him. His humiliated eyes bored into Harry. "You want to rape me too? You want—here..." Malfoy's hands dived for Harry's pyjama bottoms and tore them down, revealing Harry's thighs and groin to the outside world. Draco then tore off his robe, spun around and stood naked in front of Harry, bracing his hands on the wall and pushing his butt out in offer. "Then do it, you're no different!"

Harry's mouth worked but nothing came out of it. His hands idly dragged up his pyjama pants whilst his eyes remained fixed on the gleaming, clean canvass of Draco's naked back and the smooth, rising curve of his buttocks – effectively for the second time that night being offered to him.

_It is his to take.___

_Mine._

"Malfoy, put your robe back on." The words were spoken deadly calmly, deadly seriously.

Draco spun back around. "Why should I?" he spat. "Don't you want this? You and him are the bloody same!"

"I'M NOTHING LIKE HIM!"

The surrounding tall windows and torches shattered into a million pieces. Harry instinctively lunged forward to shield himself and Draco from the flying shards of exploding glass, wax and copper, and the other boy's hands wrapped around his neck and his head ducked down into its crook. They were cast into immediate darkness, and all that could be heard for the moment in the stark silence was Harry's and Draco's erratic breathing and the sprinkling sound of smithereens raining on the cobblestone floor.

Harry found himself acquainted with Draco's body for the third time that night. How familiar, how foreign, warm and stirring… He thought he heard footsteps but could not make out their direction.

"_Lumos_."

Harry's and Draco's heads turned to the source of the light.

"Harry." Dumbledore turned to the other boy. "Mr Malfoy," he said with a slightly surprised look at the nude figure and their compromising position.

Malfoy made quick work of ridding himself of Harry's hold, without evening bothering to look as embarrassed as Harry did. Then he surprised Harry with his next words.

"I seek your refuge, sir."

Harry's jaw dropped, the heat of embarrassment in his cheeks dying out swiftly. Dumbledore, on the other hand, looked to be doing quite well at these stunning words and at Harry hugging a naked student in a darkened hallway which had suffered Harry's explosive rage as his office had. Blue eyes pierced into Malfoy's grey ones, the look all the more intense due to the light rom Dumbledore's wand. Harry's head swivelled from Dumbledore to Malfoy, who was returning a confident, unwavering gaze at Dumbledore, pale hands half fisted, alabaster abdomen rising and falling steadily, thighs and legs gleaming like two candle sticks in the dark.

Dumbledore's eyes darted between Harry and Draco. "Mr Malfoy, if you're serious about seeking my refuge then I will have to have you under an Unbreakable Vow. This is to ensure you don't disclose any information, inconsequential or otherwise, to any... unsavoury characters."

"So be it," Draco declared without a change in expression.

Dumbledore nodded soberly. "That is excellent then," he declared with a smile. "Perhaps we should proceed to my office?" he asked kindly with a sweep of his hand, as though he were speaking under ordinary circumstances and not to a naked student in the middle of the night.

Malfoy turned to Harry and gave him a deadpan look before grappling around for his robe. Dumbledore angled his wand down so that he could find it more easily. Malfoy straightened up and slipped it on in silence after he found it, then joined Dumbledore's side without a second glance at Harry. It was a sight Harry would never thought he would witness.

Dumbledore turned to Harry. "Harry, I think that earlier plan of ours should wait for far a more appropriate time," he suggested, not minding the fact that escorting a naked student to his office was no more appropriate. "Go have a good night's sleep. We shall meet again at... Ah, yes, it's already Sunday. Perhaps we should make it ten o'clock, then? And have two hours' mercy?"

"But I—I..." Harry stuttered. His eyes inexorably fell on Draco, standing there beside Dumbledore with an impassive face, naked under that robe, barefoot, vulnerable... To prey or protect...? "I want to come with—No, I don't—I—I…"

Dumbledore patiently raised a silver eyebrow.

Harry shook his head and went the opposite way before breaking into a run, away from Dumbledore and Malfoy.

There was something wrong with him.

There was something hugely wrong with him.

"What's going on, Harry?" came Hermione's urgent voice as soon as he set foot in the common room.

Harry gaped and turned to Ron, who sheepishly shrugged. "It seemed worse than usual, mate – I had to tell her."

"And you did the right thing, Ronald," Hermione asserted firmly.

Harry shot him a betrayed look, at which Ron scuffed his toes with the floor and harrumphed that Hermione nearly had to torture to get the truth out of him.

Hermione rounded on Harry. "Harry, what the hell is going on? You better tell me or, Merlin, I swear I'll pump your stomach with so much Veritaserum you'll be babbling even your mother's prenatal secrets!"

Ron flinched from the passionate threat and mouthed at Harry from behind her, "Do it!"

"I just had another vision, that's all," Harry said.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and adjusted her folded arms. "What was the vision?" she asked primly, pursing her lips expectantly.

"I can't tell you that," Harry replied firmly, looking her straight in the eye. He imagined them troubled and grey for just a moment.

This stark, unusual forwardness floored Hermione, making her recoil and frown. "Why can't you tell us?" she prodded relentlessly.

Harry sighed in frustration and turned away from her. "I just can't, okay? It's..." He shook his head dazedly, abandoned by words.

Hermione scrutinized him intensely, reading every line on his face. All the truths were in his green eyes… He was so easy to read. And now he was worried about something... or someone.

"Who is it, Harry?"

Harry whipped back to her in shock. He should have known Hermione could read him like a book.

"It's nobody," he answered a little too quickly.

Hermione remained silent. She glanced at Ron and then swept her eyes over the quiet, empty, warm-lit common room. In the stark silence, save for the cackling fire, which glittered in her eyes passionately, she said, "You still keep things from us, Harry. I thought we went through that."

Harry thought this unfair. "This is not a secret. It's... I just can't tell you, Hermione. God, it wouldn't be fair! It wouldn't be proper! And you wouldn't want to know. Just... forget it. I _do_ tell you guys everything and I don't keep secrets. But this..." He trailed off, shaking his head in dismay, staring into the distance.

The soft look of betrayal was replaced by one of understanding. "Well, if you think you can tell us then please do, Harry. We understand – we can't pressure you to tell us everything – you have a life of your own, after all." She gave him a warm smile.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "Thanks, Hermione," he said, meaning it.

Hermione hugged him. When she pulled back, however, there was no trace of the nice, cheery mood, only a sharp look on her face. "Now it's time you boys go to bed – it's morning already." And the prefect in her comes out.

Ron made a surreptitious gesture with his hand, making a sweep to his neck with his finger translating to, 'Otherwise, we're hippogriff fodder.' Too bad Hermione caught this just in time before she turned around to head for the girls' dormitory.

"Ron, do you want me to go and tell Professor McGonagall that I did just about the whole of your essay?" she asked in a sweet but dangerous lilt.

Ron's face screwed up and then turned awed. "You wouldn't," he breathed incredulously.

Hermione raised a bushy eyebrow and crossed her arms. Ron gaped but hurried up the stairs to the boys' dormitory, dragging Harry along with him. They entered the dormitory and went straight for their beds. Ron wished goodnight.

"Goodnight, Ron," Harry said.

This time Harry made sure to do his meditation before sleeping – he had learnt his lesson. And after mere minutes later, it felt, he was opening his eyes and shaking his wristwatch alarm before he remembered that he had to press the little button on the side to shut it up, and it was suddenly a new day. He was not refreshed.

Worse still, there came an intruding thought he could not quite figure out but knew was very important… And it suddenly hit him: his breakfast with Cho. His heart raced.

He climbed wearily out of bed and pushed his curtains aside, wincing as obtrusive sunlight glared at him full blast in his face; he cursed the sun and trudged along to the bathroom.

He had not slept well. He had had tormenting visions of a Draco Malfoy limping in the middle of a dark hallway, his form surrounded by dim torchlight. He had kept seeing dark emerald robes, exposed flesh, his own hands roaming over milky skin. Kept seeing long fingers taking off his robe, his hand grabbing an arse cheek, squeezing, and his finger delving into a hot hole. He kept seeing a pale stretch of neck, bent backwards as he slammed into the naked body. Kept hearing a deferent, cowed voice, a pair of terrified, crying eyes; a shaking but warm, smooth body. He had not slept well that night at all.

Minutes later he joined Hermione descending to the Great Hall, leaving Ron to snore on in his bed. It was only close to eight-thirty but Harry knew his friend was not going to be seen until the afternoon. He was no early riser as well but he was glad he did wake up early today, emerging from his... disturbing dreams.

His mind was torn into two – Malfoy and his terrible situation and Cho Chang and all of her emotional baggage.

He and Hermione walked through the massive doors. Harry saw Dumbledore look up and beam at him from the High Table, then continue to chat with Professor Snape, who looked distinctly irritated. Hermione gave him an encouraging smile before she proceeded ahead to the Gryffindor table, leaving him to brave the Ravenclaw table, spotting Cho sitting at the Ravenclaw table with her full, intimidating entourage of girls.

Cho beamed at him as he approached. One of her faceless friends beside her gave up her seat and scooted to the next empty one, and Harry awkwardly smiled at her in thanks as in climbed in it.

"Good morning, Harry," said Cho cheerfully.

"Morning," Harry said with a grin.

They remained staring at each other like this for a few seconds before a conspicuous cough broke the moment. Needless to say they were both secretly very grateful for it and they simultaneously cleared their throats and faced their breakfast, scarlet in the face. When Harry braved a sweeping glance over Cho's friends he noticed that they too were as warm in the face as they were as though they even blushed together with Cho apart from giggling with her twenty-four seven, underscoring that sense of indestructible girl unity he so feared and loathed. He looked across the Hall at Hermione and saw her smiling by herself as she carefully filled up her plate. Girls…

He chatted and ate with Cho and her friends – who irritatingly disrupted the flow of their conversation with their undying giggling – about the upcoming the new their summers, the new DA and their upcoming OWLs. Quite early on he noted a habit of the girls which was infinitely more annoying than their giggles: every time they spoke with food in their mouth they covered their mouths. It was true he was not deaf and did not need to lip-read, but now that he experienced it there was something hugely annoying about seeing a person's face partially, covered by a big wad of flesh in front of them he was screaming to slap away. He also wanted to shout at Cho and her friends that it was not necessary and he would not think less of them if he saw their food in their mouth when they were talking!

It happened so many times – each time they spoke – that at one point Harry thought they would stop doing it because it seemed so comical and ridiculous. It was not natural and very annoying. He never realized Hermione never did it and it never bothered him – she was one of… Ah… There the reason was… Of course girls would not want to be "one of the boys" – they wanted to be _with_ one. It was still irritating though.

He bore it for as long as he could as he continued chatting with the girls. If he did not mind this horrible habit he found the girls, under their girlish giggles, predictably very smart, in both subtle and louder ways. They redeemed themselves in their incredible command of spitting sarcasm – Harry could never tell when the girls meant their words – and that they sounded to keep abreast with current issues. He had found more Hermiones at this table. He fortunately did not set enough store on cleverness to feel small in front of them as half the time they talked over his head. But he felt ten times more intelligent than when he had taken his seat at the table.

The girls made for pretty engaging conversation. That is, until the doors of the Great Hall opened and in walked Malfoy.

Harry stopped mid-sentence as his heart skipped a beat when he saw the blond boy again. His gaping face followed Malfoy down the Hall towards his seat at the empty Slytherin table, and never once did the other boy pay attention to either him or anyone else.

Beside Harry Cho looked as though she did not know what to do with herself, given that Harry seemed so taken and preoccupied. Her friends looked uncertainly at each other.

There he was, as calm as ever: the same natural swagger, the same arrogantly inclined chin, and the same impassive, grey eyes. There was nothing new, nothing that spoke of the horrors of last night. Harry could believe that it never happened at all and his eyes would not fault him.

But it _had_ happened! He _had_ seen Malfoy staggering in the corridor, he _had_ seen what happened to him by Voldemort's hands – or prick rather, and he most certainly _had_ felt Malfoy's body on his own!

Two tables away Hermione's eyes darted shrewdly between Harry and Draco.

A throat was cleared.

Harry snapped out of his... observation and gazed at the people around him, suddenly finding himself in an uncomfortable silence. Cho's face was closed off and her friends were eating their breakfast religiously. But then, out of the blue, Cho burst into tears. Harry felt more surprised than exasperated.

"So I see," she sniffed, turning wet, blazing eyes on Harry, and they had a spark to them that had Harry's trepidation growing.

"Sorry?" he asked.

"Why don't you just go up there now and jump him in front of all of us!" she spat tearfully.  
"Cho, what are you talking about?" he asked delicately, genuinely having no clue, and trying not to aggravate the emotional Ravenclaw.

"You're practically drooling over your food!" charged one of her friends acidly. "Does he look better than her? Do you like him? Hm?"

Harry gaped once more. What was she on? "What, Malfoy? Of course not, that's crazy-"

"Oh she's _crazy_ now, is she?" another friend grilled him in defence of the previous girl.

Bugger. This unity thing was getting tiresome…

"I mean I don't like him like that – that's disgusting – he's a bloke-"

"Well you weren't too convincing right then, were you?" a third friend accused.

"Oi, this is between me and her, all right?" Harry yelled, heading off what seeming like a growing chain effect.

The girls made harsh, dismissive sounds as only girls could and turned their backs on him and discussed how disgusting a creature he was. Harry ignored them and, gritting his teeth, turned back to Cho.

"Cho."

She shook her head. "It's all right, Harry. I understand."

Wait, this could not be happening. Cho was leaving him because of _Malfoy_? "Wait, you can't honestly believe-"

"You know, I always have rotten luck with boyfriends," she said as he stood up and threw her serviette on her food. "One dies and the other becomes an overnight ponce." And she flew out of the Great Hall before Harry could stop her. One of her friends ran after her.

He stood there, shocked at what just happened. She had left him because of Malfoy. He gave a single burst of laugh at it all out of sheer incredulity, drawing scathing looks from Cho's friends, probably thinking him insensitive at laughing after hurting their friend like that. He turned to Malfoy again and saw him tossing his hair out of his eyes as a hand came up to bring his fork to his lips. It was hard to believe that soul had been violated, that person there had been raped, and only the previous night.

Realizing he was staring again – one girl threw her hands in the air out of exasperation because of this – he skittered away over to the Gryffindor table before Cho's friends had something to say about that as well. He could barely wrap his head around what had just happened between him and Cho. So, it was over, as quickly as it had almost begun? He would have to explain himself later – he could not be known as a homosexual.

He sighed heavily as he sank down into his seat and started filling up a second plate, since he had eaten negligibly at the Ravenclaw table, engaged in conversation as he had been, and it was not as though he could go back and fetch his unfinished plate. No, Harry was not going to risk the scorn of Cho's friends.

"What happened with Cho?" Hermione asked with a curious frown.

Harry shook his head, still awash with disbelief. "I don't know. One moment I was talking and smiling with her, and the next, she's crying and starts accusing me of..."

Hermione's lips twitched. "Yes?" she cajoled sweetly.

"They just said some mean things," Harry muttered evasively, unsure as to why he felt even just a little embarrassed.

Hermione's chin quivered. "Such as?" she managed to squeeze out.

Harry hesitated for a moment but then thought he did not have to be embarrassed as nothing the girls accused him of was true.

"They just said I wanted to, um, 'jump' Malfoy was the word they used."

Hermione, forehead creased with strain, was barely holding herself together when she asked, "Jump how?"

"Look! It doesn't matter what the-" Harry stopped mid-sentenced when Hermione burst into a fit of laughter, holding her chest and let her head fall on the table, drops of tears squeezing out of the corner of her eyes. If she were any more overt she would be rolling on the floor. Harry stared at her blankly but could not fend off her infectious hilarity.

Finally, Hermione seemed to compose herself, clearing her throat and sighing, and Harry's giggled faded. "Calmed down much?"

She drew a deep breath. "Hm, yes. That was good. It was great to have a laugh, especially in these times..."

Harry smiled at this. It did feel good to feel just 'normal' again indeed, even for a while.

"It's Malfoy, isn't it?" she enquired lightly, clearly trying to use the light moment to penetrate him.

"What's Malfoy? Is it Malfoy Day today or something?" Harry asked a little exasperatedly. "Sunday Malfoy Day today. Hey, it rhymes!"

Hermione ignored this tripe. "The vision?" she pushed on. "It had something to do with Malfoy." It was spoken more like a statement than a question.

Something in Harry's face suddenly switched off. Damn her shrewdness. She was getting close, too close. He still could not tell her. As much as he would be the first person to line up to teach Malfoy a lesson or two, he could not dare say anything after the boy had experienced what he did, and especially when he, Harry, had had a front row seat to the torture.

"Malfoy? How can Malfoy be in my visions?" he flustered. "I don't think Voldemort is interested in Malfoy enough to pay him any attention – he's just a kid." And, Merlin, he _was_ just a kid and Voldemort _was_ interested in him because his snaky prick _had_ been at attention.

Hermione frowned. "You're a kid too, Harry… But then why were you staring at him like that when he came in?"

"Because!" Harry snapped in frustration, having no answer just yet. "Because… I... choose to." _Nice, Harry_.

"Because you choose to?" Hermione deadpanned, eyebrow raised. "Since when did you 'choose' to check out Malfoy?"

"I wasn't _checking_ him _out_!" he said indignantly. "I was—I was assessing him."

Hermione raised her eyebrows lazily again.

Harry looked down at his food, jaw set, refusing to answer anything else and continued eating his breakfast. The girl desisted, thankfully, for Harry did not hear any further questions.

A fluttering noise broke the tense mood. Harry peered up at the ceiling: a horde of owls were spilling into the Great Hall. Harry's heart gave a tiny leap when he saw his snow-white Hedwig soaring in the air with a small, rolled-up missive tied to her leg. But instead of coming to him she flew over to Dumbledore and landed on the shoulder of his purple robes. This infuriated Harry, who felt violated as it was, knowing of Dumbledore withholding his mail. Hedwig was supposed to be loyal to him only! And now the first person she reported to was Dumbledore? He felt betrayed by her, and so incensed was he that he almost did not notice the elegant flight of Malfoy's large, eagle owl.

Even Harry had to admit the blasted thing possessed a certain gravitas no other owl in Hogwarts even dreamed to approach. Harry scowled as it landed almost disgustingly gracefully on the Slytherin table and waddled on its two legs to the blond aristocrat, its head bobbing and beak high in the air, as though as proud and arrogant and pompous as its owner. A gold collar with a precious emerald stone eye embedded in it encircled its neck. The bird held out one leg regally, keeping absolutely still.

Disgusted, Harry turned away from the two of them, imagining what brutal torture the bird had to go through to act so polished. He instead watched Dumbledore as he muttered spell after spell on the little note with which Hedwig had flown into the Great Hall, feeling he was tainting and defacing it with every tap of his wand. Nonetheless, he eyed the missive with rapt attention. Would this be another fire-call appointment from Sirius?

Perched on Dumbledore's shoulder, Hedwig looked positively fascinated with this magical diagnosis: her head bobbed with every tap of his wand and her feet shuffled about excitedly, occasionally giving a little appreciative ruffle of her feathers when a particularly impressive spell with a bright colour issued.

A few seconds later, apparently satisfied with his thorough check, Dumbledore carefully furled the letter, pushed it into Hedwig's beak, and patted her affectionately before she took off, whereupon Harry looked away before he could feel more repulsed by his secondary status to her, though he kept track of her with the corner of his eyes as she flew over to him and landed on the table. He would like to think it was just as graceful a landing as the eagle owl over his shoulder had made. Giving her a forced smile he caressed her feathers and gave her some toast to nibble one while he opened the letter. Hermione called Hedwig over. However, the bird merely stared at her as it remained rooted next to Harry with a mocking expression that said, 'You can't be serious, lady.'

_Harry,_

Your common room fireplace

12:00

Same as last time. Harry could not deny to himself he was somewhat disappointed but he pushed it down, comforting himself with the fact that he would see Sirius again tonight, which was far better than were a couple of lines of sentimental words. Face to face (in a way) was more direct and intimate.

"What is it?" Hermione asked as she ruffled Hedwig after she finally went over her to when she realized no lovely sparkles were forthcoming from her useless owner. She now had her eyes closed, basking in the attention of Hermione's ministrations.

"It's from Padfoot. Same time, same place," Harry replied cryptically.

"Oh." Hermione nodded and continued petting Hedwig.

Harry wondered if Malfoy had received those sweet packets usually delivered by his eagle owl instead of tatty, old, hope-giving missives, and looked over his shoulder just in time to see Malfoy grimace faintly as he looked down at his hand. Malfoy then put his ring to a piece of parchment, which was not clearly visible from three tables away. Harry knew there was some kind of authentication spell put on the letter if Malfoy had to use his family ring to open it as he had seen him do this a few times before.

Wait. When... In his dream, Malfoy had not been wearing a ring… Nor had he worn his double 'M' necklace… And he also had not gelled his hair as he always did. He had just walked into the room completely naked – no jewellery, no hair gel, no shoes. Just bare, minimal, natural, pure... Pure. Voldemort had wanted him like that. Harry's heart thundered. That word that Malfoy personified that night, that had described him so eloquently, his pale skin and striking attractiveness underscoring this. Harry's pulse quickened, whether from excitement or terror as he remembered it felt to hold Malfoy yesterday in that hallway, he did not know. He studied Malfoy's face in intense trepidation for his reaction.

He had known it. As Harry thought it, Malfoy's eyes widened and Harry could see the letter starting to shake in his hands. Horror unadulterated for him seeped into Harry's bones so rapidly he must have felt it he had even seen Malfoy's reaction. Malfoy look down at the table, trying to calm himself, it seemed, and then looked up at the High Table. Harry's head whipped over towards it and spied Dumbledore gazing back at Malfoy with a rigid but indecipherable expression. Harry looked back to Malfoy again and caught the tail of a nod before the Slytherin stood up from the table and strutted out of the Great Hall. Harry tracked his progress to the doors until he learnt once more he could not see around corners.

His investigative eyes turned back to the High Table and saw Dumbledore chatting to Professor McGonagall with a smiling, carefree face. He did not know exactly what this all meant but he did have an idea, one he did not like one bit. He turned around to face his plate and absent-mindedly went through the rest of his toast and eggs. He was not aware he had been shaking his head in dismay the whole time until Dumbledore minutes later excused himself from the High Table, Snape right at his heel. The seated McGonagall eyed the men sharply as they stood up from their seats, her lips compressed into two thin strips of flesh: she was suspicious.

Certain that these seemingly isolated incidents – Draco leaving the Great Hall and the two professors departing minutes later – were connected, as the four of them had been under one roof together before, Harry grabbed his toast, sprinkled some of his leftover scrambled eggs on it to make a sandwich, and left the Great Hall at a steady trot, too dazed even to mislead Hermione with an excuse, however futile it would have been.

As soon as he made it out of the massive room he broke into a run heading straight for Dumbledore's office – it was the only logical place to go. But before rounding a corner, Harry all but skidded to a halt and thought that his presence would likely not be welcome in such a sensitive issue by any of them. He swiftly changed direction and took off for Gryffindor Tower.

After nearly obliterating that infuriating Fat Lady when she was not quick enough to open, doing it in her usually slow, failingly graceful sweep, Harry took the stairs two at a time and burst into the fifth-year boys' dormitory, and bounded for his trunk, missing Seamus' rocking bed, which immediately stilled upon his entrance. Ron was still lightly snoring away still, just as he had been when Harry had left him not too long ago.

Harry flung his lid open and searched desperately for his Invisibility Cloak, and pulling the smooth, flowing material out from under heavy textbooks and other paraphernalia, he stood up and draped it over himself quickly before any of the boys woke up and caught Harry Potter doing a disappearing act. He made his way out of the room, vacillating between tiptoeing to conform to the invisibility the Cloak was affording him and just making a run for it, damning the consequences. Harry half-ran in a crouch all the way to the portrait hole, climbed through and pushed it aside only to see a narrowed-eyed Hermione keeping active guard on the other side.

Harry froze in astonishment for a moment before her waving her hands forced her to react. He moved backwards slowly as she felt the air around her for him after she saw the portrait frame swinging open. Harry backed up into the common room again as quietly as he could, hardly believing what was happening. Hermione slowly inched into the common room, hands still waving around like flagella in seawater. She must know he had his Invisibility Cloak on.

"Harry." She spoke his name in a manner that suggested she was testing the waters, and not wishing to start talking openly to herself if indeed she was alone. "Harry, I know you're here. You're wearing your Invisibility Cloak and you're going to follow Malfoy somewhere."

Her eyes whizzed around the room, focussing on suspicious random areas. Harry covered his ragged breaths with his hand to keep as quiet as he could. He did not have time for this! If he had any chance of sneaking into Dumbledore's office he had to go now, when someone was going to give the password to the gargoyle, ascend the stairs and get into the office. He could not do all that if he was invisible!

When she did not hear any response Hermione pursed her lips resolutely and backed up in front of the hole and stretched her arms wide, blocking the only way out with her body.

"You're not leaving this room until you come out and talk to me."

_I can't talk now, dammit!_ Harry's panic and anxiety was growing – he needed to get out of here. Now.

"What's going on?"

Harry whirled around in dismay and saw Ron standing at the top of the stairs, bleary-eyed, pyjama-clad, and frowning down at Hermione through him.

_Fan-bloody-tastic._

Ron came down the stairs. That was it. Harry ripped the Invisibility Cloak off and turned angry green eyes on Hermione.

"Get out of the way, Hermione."

Hermione did not seem shocked and did not start. She shook her head firmly.

"No, Harry, you're going to talk to us. What's going on? Ever since you came back from the summer you've just closed yourself off. You laughed and spent time with us, sure, but you're still not the same. When Sirius fire-called your whole face shines and you completely forget about us! Then you're busy goggling at Malfoy, apparently having visions of him, and now you're starting to follow him around! What's going on, Harry? Aren't Ron and I good enough for you anymore? Don't we make you happy? ...What's going on with you, Harry?"

Ron shifted awkwardly on the last step of the stairs.

He appreciated Hermione's emotions right now, he did. But in a calm whisper, Harry said, "I don't have time for this, Hermione. I need you to get – away – from – the hole... please."

Hermione's eyes shone with unshed tears but she refused to sway. "Tell us what's happening to you. I think as your best friends we deserve to know."

Harry felt his anger rising. He stepped slowly, calmly, towards the girl. "Get – away – from – the hole. I will explain everything later, I promise." How long would it take Draco to get to Dumbledore's gargoyle? How long would Dumbledore and Snape take to get to the gargoyle?

"Hermione, let him go," Ron advised solemnly. "He said he'll tell us when he gets back from wherever. Let him go."

Harry could kiss Ron right now.

The words never registered with Hermione, however, and she kept her determined gaze on Harry.

This was the one time he wished for something to blow up due to his anger but it was not happening. Perhaps that was solely reserved for Voldemort – such was his hatred for him.

He needed to know what was going on with Malfoy. He could not stand here and waste time with these emotional frivolities he could deal with _when he got back!_

It was down to a choice. Choose Malfoy or choose his friends. Choose to find out about what Malfoy's letter entailed or have a hearty talk with his friends. Of course he would choose the latter; they were his best friends and were very special to him. But this choice was more complicated than that. He simply needed to get to that office. He took out his wand.

"Don't make me do this, Hermione." His eyes, too, gleamed with unshed tears. He did not fully understand why he was choosing to do this, but he was determined.

The raised wand floored Hermione, and her betrayed eyes shifted between it and Harry's brimming green eyes.

"Oi, mate, that's not necessary, all right?" Behind him, Harry saw with the whites of his eyes Ron's wand clearing his pyjamas and held uncertainly, the redhead clearly torn. Did Ron carry his wand everywhere, even in the showers? What a true pureblood.

"I don't know you..." Hermione whispered despairingly as one tear ran down her cheek.

Harry would never admit how much it hurt to hear those words and see to those tears flow because what he was doing, so he resorted to his anger.

"Look," he growled through clenched teeth, jabbing his wand in her direction, "this is bigger than all of us, okay? He's suffering and I have to—I have... I have to find out what happened…!" Even to him that did not make sense. Only raw emotions were at play here.

Hermione was shaking her head vacantly – why, Harry did not know, and this confusion only added fire to his blazing anger: he unleashed a spell. He had to choose. Let this not break their friendship…

"_Petrificus To-_"

"_Stupefy!_"

And just like that, they chose for him. Ron's spell – shorter than his own – was first to issue, and Harry's Stupefied body toppled to the floor.


	9. A Memory, A Terrifying Truth & A Scandal

**Chapter 9**

**A Mysterious Memory, Terrifying Truth & Shocking Shag Shebang**

"_Finite Incantatem._"

Harry blinked and shook his head as he sat up from the carpet floor. He looked up at his two friends, who wore unreadable expressions on their faces.

"Wha..." he croaked in a daze. And then it all came rushing back to him. He peeked contritely through his unruly fringe at Ron and Hermione, who, however, now that they knew he remembered, did not appear accusatory.

Looking around, Harry noticed that they were in exactly the same positions as they had been before he was Stupefied by Ron. So he might not have been out for too long. Maybe it was not too late to go and find out about Malfoy… What was wrong with him? He was still on about the Malfoy issue and here he had been so out of control he was hexed by his best friends!

He wearily made to the plush, scarlet couch in front of the fireplace and plonked into it. His friends followed suit on either sides of him.

No one spoke up for several minutes. Harry did not appreciate the silence as it gave him ample room to stew in his guilt about his actions. What had come over him? How could he dare raise his wand to Hermione? To a person he loved, a person was supposed to protect? He wondered at himself like this as he rested his head on one knee, his face hidden to his two friends with his hands.

In the silent, still-empty common room – although running water could be distantly heard somewhere – he apologized in a low, muffled voice.

"I'm sorry."

A few moments passed before he heard Hermione speak. "It's okay, Harry."

Before any further exchange took place the first wandering soul walked into the common room. It was Ginny.

"Morning, everyone."

They all greeted her back, though Harry was barely audible. Still hiding his face, he heard the fourth-year Weasley throw herself into a couch. He could not see what was going on but he could feel that the tense silence had grown tauter with Ginny's arrival.

"How's Dean?" Ron asked randomly, in a move to diffuse the tension no bout.

Harry kept his head under his hands.

"He's fine," Ginny replied shortly.

More silence.

"He's buggering Seamus."

Harry's head came out of hiding before he could stop himself just as a mean coughing fit gripped Ron. Hermione merely frowned at him disapprovingly, thinking he was being rude, but then she gave his back a few slaps, her frown now of genuine worry. Without great effort Ron finally suppressed his coughs and avoided his sister's eyes.

Harry, forgetting his shame, turned to Hermione and watched her laughter build gradually until her body was heaving up and down quietly, wracked by giggles. Their eyes met. And Harry could not help but share her amusement at their freckled friend. This confirmed for him that he was truly forgiven for his treacherous actions.

Ron wiped his snort and cleared his coarse throat. For a moment he did nothing sit with his arms folded across his chest and try to ignore Harry's and Hermione's laughter. They stopped laughing abruptly when Ron suddenly flew to his feet and, arms still crossed, walked briskly towards the stairs.

"I'm going to kill that bastard!" he shouted. "Ginny, how can you let him cheat on you with—with—like...that?" He made vague hand gestures towards the boys' dormitory after he stopped at the foot of the stairs.

"You're not going to do anything of the sort, Ron!" Ginny warned, as she too rose to her feet. She said, much more calmly, "Besides, I can't really blame him."

Ron looked as though Ginny had said Viktor Crum was the Beater in the world.

"What do you mean you 'can't really blame him'?" he shot back, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. "Is he not... doing that to someone else…? Wait, I should be glad he's buggering someone else because that means he's not buggering you... Wait, that still doesn't make it right! You let him jump on anyone else like you two aren't an item?"

Ginny shook her head resolutely. There was a serious lack of emotion on her face. "Forget it, Ron. Think about it: Seamus has just confessed something very personal to him. Dean only wanted to help his friend, that's all."

This left silence in its wake.

Ron was frowning furiously at those words, confounded as well. And then his face broke into understanding, remembering Parvati's words. "Oh, he told Dean he was a fag."

"Ron," Hermione admonished.

Ginny nodded with a small smile.

Ron seemed wordless for a moment. "So what, Seamus asked Dean if he could shag him in the arse?" He barely finished the question in his quivering voice. Harry was no less uncomfortable with what they were discussing as well.

"Ron," Hermione chastised again.

"Something like that," Ginny answered, with a smirk of amusement. She seemed only amused by all of this rather than hurt.

"And you're okay with it?" Ron asked in astonishment?

Ginny sighed exasperatedly. "Yes, Ron, I'm okay with it. Dean is not going to leave me for him just because Seamus gave him a good working out." Ron's eyes closed and his arms went up to warn Ginny not to continue speaking. Harry blushed furiously. "If he did want to leave me, he'd tell me face to face, or at least I expect him to." A stern glint flashed in her brown eyes.

"Bloody hell..." Ron dropped into the couch, an awe-struck, faraway expression on his face. "And I thought nothing could top Percy…"

"It's just helping out a friend," Ginny said. She smirked at Ron, who scowled in return and crossed his arms defensively.

"Helping out a friend," Ron spat. "Yeah real mates they are. It's not like you see Harry and I doing—do—you know..." Ron was absolutely insufferable beyond this world. Harry's eyes dived for the floor, cheeks incandescent with heat. Ron had turned a bright pink, which clashed horribly with the freckles and red hair. They did not dare look at each other or at anyone else. In order to save them from this moment of complete and utter embarrassment, Ron, with rather exaggerated disgust and zeal, accused, "They're probably doing it right now up there!" He turned to the stairs, eyeing the dormitory door apprehensively.

And just then, as if on cue, a loud but quickly cut-off moan sounded from the boys' dormitory.

Ron, Harry and Hermione wanted to find a deep, dark place and kill themselves. Even Ginny looked shocked at the noise. Ron started spluttering, his eyes once more swollen, threatening to pop out of his head. Hermione, evidently having recovered, was sharing one of those girl looks with Ginny, both of them on the verge giggles.

Harry... Harry felt a strange pang in his chest. That feeling one got when one saw a blue movie for the first time, or saw animals going at it, or discovered their parents doing it, or caught someone masturbating. That feeling of one's naivety being violated, invalidating the sub-conscious and innocent belief that the world only existed as they sprung upon it, unfolded itself little by little as they ventured forth, mastered by their volition; violently shaking them out of ignorance and showed them that in the world, there were things that happened, and sex was one of them. It was an awed, unsettling, intrigued feeling. Even though he had seen this type of sex in his mind, however disturbing it was, just knowing it was happening so close to him and to people he knew well – Dean and Seamus – violated a cocooned niche. It was strange and disconcerting all at the same time.

Perhaps it was more about the sound, just the exact sound of the moan. Perhaps the moan was the thing disturbing him – another boy making sounds like that… What about a girl? What if Hermione made that sound? It would not have been as disturbing because girls are the species inclined to be softer in most aspects – making soft, submissive noises like that was natural. But another boy, what sense did that make? Whoever was up there should have made manly, guttural, grunting noises... But he had not, only he had released a soft, breathy, pleasure-riddled, almost beseeching moan. For another bloke to go down to such levels to do that... Just how good was he feeling? How much pleasure could sex give? What was sex _like_? Harry was intrigued.

He swallowed a couple of times and tried to right his mind – it felt titled, pushed off kilter by the puzzling sound. He felt strange, as though the world had become dirtier somehow. That sound was not going to go away anytime soon – it would haunt him until the day he died. Perhaps that was not too far down the line.

"Well they sound to be having fun."

"Hermione!" Ron screeched, absolutely scandalized, only eliciting more giggles from the girl.

Had Ron ever had sex? Had Hermione ever had sex? Had Ginny ever had sex? Harry looked at all of them. Suddenly they looked different, they looked... questionable, less innocent, more... perfidious, secretive, enigmatic, more concerned and connected to the soiled ground of his earth. What if he was the only virgin here? These questions and more ran around in his head….

Who had sex in this school? Everybody. And why did they do it? Because it felt amazing. That was the question of all questions: How amazing could it feel? Why did it feel so good? What happens? What does your body do? How does it react? Harry had absolutely no idea of it. He had no answers for his questions, not a single vestige of a clue. Merlin, he was totally clueless. What did sex feel like? Harry felt his prick give a thrust in his jeans.

"Ron, are you going to give Dean and Seamus any trouble?" Hermione asked in another soft, dangerous lilt.

Ron looked down petulantly, guilty as charged. "I'm not so sure about Dean," he harrumphed.

Ginny shook her head. "Leave him alone, Ron. He's not going to hurt me."

The redhead grumbled but did not argue further.

Disturbed by all his new questions, Harry distracted himself and looked up to the clock: the time was just after half nine. He remembered he had a meeting with Dumbledore and his heartbeat suddenly spurred. Maybe he could ask Dumbledore about the letter, assuming Malfoy had divulged it to the man of course. But if that was the case, Dumbledore probably would not tell him anything about it, ever being the one to preserve anyone's confidence. Then Harry would just have to rant and rave at him until he got the truth out of him.

Why was this so important to him anyway? Why was Malfoy's situation important to him enough to make him betray his friends as he had nearly done, and to inspire so much curiosity in him? Because he saw what Malfoy went through and he did not want him to have to go through that terrible experience again. Nobody deserved to. His response was only natural.

He suddenly could not wait for ten o'clock now that he had remembered the meeting, and he did not mind an excuse to get out of the common room after what had just happened. But the meeting was a full twenty-five minutes to go. What could he do to occupy his mind?

He went up the stairs to collect _Useless Magic._ He had forgotten, in his haste, who was in the dormitory but was reminded vividly when he caught a glimpse of Dean's naked dark-skinned butt before it delved behind the privacy of the bed curtains. This really drove home the fact that they _had_ been having sex beyond a doubt. That violating pang hit him in his chest again. Sex. It was a strange thing, and disturbingly intriguing. Harry made for his trunk as he tried as best as he could not to think.

He emerged from the room feeling that it was soiled somehow, but he had retrieved his book. He sat with it in his couch. Ron and Ginny came over and joined him but the book's charm on Ginny was short-lived. She snorted at its uselessness and went back to Hermione doubtlessly to talk about her boyfriend and Seamus. While they did so Harry and Ron mentally catalogued every new spell they learnt, no matter how trivial. One never knew – Nail-Clipping and Superficial Perforating Charms could come in handy one day.

It seemed time was not on his side. Harry watched the clock strike every minute until Hermione could not take his back-and-forth glances between the book to the clock and dragged him out of the common room. They walked in deliberate silence and at a deliberately slow pace towards the headmaster's office.

Harry felt Hermione deserved at least part of the truth – he had threatened the girl with his bloody wand.

"Draco's suffering badly, and I suspect he's going to get hurt again tonight. That's why I needed to go to Dumbledore's office and find out about the letter he got this morning."

Hermione was taken aback by the unsolicited confession. "Is You-Know-Who torturing him in your visions?" she asked tentatively.

Harry gave a rueful smile. "Something like that."

"Harry," she said cautiously, "what do you think you could do if the letter _was_ what you're thinking it is?"

Harry had to think about that. What could he do? Perhaps Dumbledore was organizing a sanctuary for Draco so he would not have to return to Voldemort. But he, a fifth-year Hogwarts student, a mere teenager possessing no special authority or power... what could he do?

He did not answer Hermione – he did not _have_ an answer.

Taking this silence as a bad omen, Hermione steered the conversation to more open matters, and they talked lightly and amicably until they finally reached the golden phoenix gargoyle close to the stroke of ten. Harry bade Hermione bye as she turned around to go back to Gryffindor Tower.

"Good morning, Harry," Dumbledore said, after Harry ascended the stairs and entered his office, before adding with amusement, "I trust you have your wand this time?"

Harry flushed, remembering yesterday. "Good morning, sir."

Dumbledore nodded as Harry took his seat.

Before Dumbledore could open his mouth again, Harry set off. "What's going to happen to Malfoy?"

"Harry, we needn't delve into matters we shouldn't be," Dumbledore was quick to warn. "Now is not the time-"

"Just tell me... please." Harry's beseeching emerald eyes penetrated the older man's own blue eyes.

"Harry," he sighed softly, "it is inappropriate to divulge anything Mr Malfoy has disclosed to me, especially since he has asked for my express confidence."

"Just tell me if he's going back to Voldemort, that's I want to know," Harry pressed relentlessly.

Dumbledore held Harry's eyes with sadness and regret. "I cannot, Harry."

"He's going to see him tonight, isn't he?" said the Gryffindor knowingly, although it was still a question.

Dumbledore's expression did not change.

Harry realized he was not going to get an answer from Dumbledore. It just had to be. Malfoy could not have looked so terrified at the letter for any other reason than having to face that monster again. It had to be the only possibility: Malfoy was going back to Voldemort tonight.

"Dumbledore," he began solemnly, "I know you know that Malfoy is going back to him again tonight, there's just no other explanation."

"That's quite an assumption, Harry," Dumbledore said with a smile.

This play of obliviousness angered Harry. "It's no assumption! Why does it matter if you keep Draco's confidence or not? Okay, tell me this: are you going to let him go back to that monster so he can do to him what he did last time?"

"For all you know Mr Malfoy may not be returning to Voldemort's quarters, Harry," Dumbledore said.

Harry looked away and shook his head. His breath had slightly quickened, his stomach had twisted in knots. He looked back to Dumbledore expectantly, waiting for an answer. When Dumbledore simply stared back at him and seemed about to get on with the meeting, Harry stood up and went to the door. Dumbledore could go to hell!

"Harry," he heard from behind. He turned around one last time.

Dumbledore stood up from his chair and came around his desk. "You need your training. You cannot let anything disrupt it, not in a time like this. Professor Slughorn is due here in a few minutes through my fireplace, just for you." Seeing that Harry seemed unmoved and stood no further from the door, he continued, "Harry, Professor Slughorn has something very vital that we need from him and only you can get it."

When Harry enquired about what Dumbledore needed from Slughorn, the headmaster explained about the memory Slughorn had given him but had also altered, and Dumbledore needed the true the memory. Afterwards, Dumbledore looked him in the eye sombrely and said, "Harry, I suspect Voldemort is at this moment immortal."

It hit Harry in the chest and plunged it to the floor with the rest of his bowels. It was the one thing in the world he was not prepared to hear. It was just not possible…

But that was only the start of it. He was then being told about heirlooms and… He found out why Dumbledore had been gone for a few days at a time… And finally he found that Dumbledore only had months to live. Harry could not take it in all in. His life had essentially transformed in a few minutes, radically different to the one he lived before he walked into this office… The very possibility of Voldemort being immortal… of Dumbledore dying… He asked him how long he had to live, and Dumbledore, after the both of them had returned to their seats, gave his once more steepled hand a cursory glance.

"Well, Professor Snape estimates a year. However, I am inclined to believe that Voldemort is not going to wait that long to come to Hogwarts, as you have warned me."

It was all over. It was pouring. First, he learns that Voldemort is planning to take over Hogwarts through a vision. Then he learns that Dumbledore has literally only months to live. And thirdly, the fact that Voldemort 'might' be immortal. What hope was there? Why were they still fighting? Harry didn't know whether he wanted to throw something or cry. His eyes grabbed onto random objects in the room because his mind was spinning and could not command them…

Dumbledore gave him another bleak smile. "Harry, don't be discouraged, there's still hope. We just have to do what we have to."

Harry gave up on absorbing the eventuality that Dumbledore was going to die. He wasn't going to believe it now so he might as well stop trying to. He was barely coherent, barely registering anything the man was saying. His world had just collapsed. Thoughts were zipping past him. He caught one.

"Sir, what did you want to do last night when you asked me to take out my wand?"

He was glad to find his voice was steady again. But that was rather more frightening: he was cantankerously emotion – he could not tell what he might feel. But why should he care? Nothing around him was working… That Privet Drive apathy threatened his swallow him again, and he folded his arms protectively.

"Ah, yes," hissed Dumbledore gleefully, his old upbeat eccentric vigour returning, breaking up the despairing air around them somewhat. "I wanted to exploit that anger you said you felt and channel it so you can use it in a controlled manner. If you could learn to do this, Harry, you could unlock a fiercer, more powerful force of magic within you that would give you an invaluable advantage on the battlefield, so to say!" he laughed.

Harry was glad that this somewhat piqued his interest, a welcomed temporary reprieve from the morbid gloom he could see starting to wrap around him.

"You mean I can control my anger and that would give me more magical power?" Yes, idle topics, idle, temporary respite from the truth.

Dumbledore frowned. "It's a crude summary but essentially accurate nevertheless," he chuckled heartily, not in the way Harry had grown to detest, but it was a lighter noise, genuinely inspired. Perhaps there was still hope. Fawkes gave a single melodious coo.

Harry, barely hiding a dim smile of his own, asked, "How do I do that?"

Dumbledore looked pensive. "Well, see it this way, Harry: Magic is energy, though that has been heavily debated for as long as we've had Muggle-borns and half-bloods who came to associate the two because of their western education background. Nevertheless it is the best working definition we have. So when you're feeling angry enough and you express this through tantrums or outbursts, the resultant force unleashed can be regarded as magical energy expressed in a disordered manner.

"Ordinarily this disordered eruption of magical force resulting from heightened emotion is manifests into physical bursts of energy such as what you had demonstrated in my office last night. If properly controlled this force can be harnessed into a greater power through a wizard's conduit – his wand. More ambitiously, one might not even need the use of his wand with disordered magic, but simply harness it so finely that one can perform simple magic without it. This becomes easier the more magically mature you are, of course."

Harry took a moment to absorb all of this, letting a few seconds pass. Maybe his tendency to make things explode might not have to be attributed simply to immaturity. Maybe it could have a purpose.

"So can you perform magic without using your wand?" he asked.

Dumbledore wore a mischievous grin and, leaning forward on his desk, whispered, "That is strictly between you and me." He smiled good-naturedly. Harry swore he caught the tiniest of twinkles in his blue eyes. He returned the smile, but it quickly fell.

"That means Voldemort can do it too, right?"

Dumbledore's mischievous grin also faltered. "Well, unfortunately for us, Harry, Voldemort has always been extraordinarily intelligent."

"You're intelligent too," Harry countered.

"You make me blush, Harry," Dumbledore fluttered, before sobering. "But I suspect if he does possess this extremely rare ability then he has most certainly kept it secret from even his closest followers – you'll soon find how secretive he is. But don't worry about that: as skilled as he might be in wandless magic I don't believe he can exact huge damage without employing his wand. For one thing the Unforgivables, which he is most inclined to use, are a powerful set of spells and require great energy to perform them."

"I don't understand, sir," Harry said. "Why do they need a lot of energy to cast? Why are they powerful?"

Keep the conversation going. Have no fear.

"Yes... and no. The Unforgivables..." Before Dumbledore could continue, the fireplace roared to life and in stumbled the rotund, squat figure of Professor Horace Slughorn.

Dumbledore stood up from his chair and smiled warmly at the man. "At last you join us. Good morning, Horace."

The wizard dusted Floo powder off his dark-brown robes and pointy hat before turning to give Dumbledore a handshake, but not before he noticed the other presence in the room. His outstretched hand stopped between them, leaving Dumbledore to hang, as his widening eyes fixed on Harry. "Yes, yes, morning," he rapped dismissively as he walked over to Harry.

Harry gulped. The man looked very interested in him, as though he were a piece of meat. He shot a glance at Dumbledore to get a clue on how to handle the man, but his headmaster merely nodded smilingly at him. But his eyes were not so jovial: they were serious and held Harry's eyes purposefully. The memory. It was the same expression he gave Harry in the first meeting in the Room of Requirement: that intentional directed nod. He had to do this – he had to get the memory – it held all the answers that Dumbledore was seeking. If endearing himself to Professor Slughorn was what he had to do in order to get this supposedly precious memory, then so be it.

Harry stood up and extended his hand, throwing the man a huge smile. "Good morning, Professor Slughorn," he said spritely.

"Yes, yes, of course, Harry Potter," praised the man as he vice-gripped his hand. His eyes did the obligatory search to his forehead for the lightning bolt and astonishment wrote all over his face once more. "Well, Albus, you do tend to have the best!"

"Ah, so I assume you're impressed with my latest offering?" said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling in Harry's direction.

They were discussing him like a commodity here and he found it unsettling. He, however, continued to shake the man's hand.

Slughorn looked affronted. "Of course, of course! I'd need to be examined in the head if I weren't! Well, we should get going then, shan't we!" he trilled merrily, looking like a child about to rush home to open his Christmas presents.

"Indeed we should," said Dumbledore. "Horace, I've arranged your private quarters as we have discussed. You should be able to move in right this moment."

Slughorn rubbed his hands together delightedly. "Excellent, excellent! Got my luggage packed already," he sang as he patted his breast pocket indicatively. "Well, we should be going, Harry and I. We have a lot of bonding to do!" The man's fat fingers clasped Harry's shoulders greedily and directed him to the door.

Harry gave one last look at his headmaster, feeling sort of sold for some reason. Dumbledore nodded at him one final time before smiling, and his face disappeared behind the large oak doors of his office.

Harry looked up at the man grabbing his shoulder, a wide, accomplished grin on his small, round face.

Get the memory by all means necessary...

It did not work. Soon Harry was cursing himself as he returned to Gryffindor Tower. He had been too impatient and too heavy-handed. When Slughorn, after showing him his mother and father in a Slug Club group photo, asked him to join the Club, Harry had agreed but in return Slughorn must give him the memory. Slughorn had instantly swelled, straining the shining gold buttons of his coat, and thrown him out.

"What's wrong, dear?" said the Fat Lady, as soon as he spotted his troubled look.

"Nothing," Harry grumbled, still furious with himself. He gave the password and the Fat Lady let him through without more questions. He entered the common room where he found Ginny sitting on Dean's lap and Ron and Hermione looking over _Useless Magic_. A vivid image of Dean's naked dark-skinned buttons flashed past in his mind.

"Hi, Dean," he said a little stiffly as he made to ascend the stairs without looking at anyone.

"What happened?" came Hermione's cautious voice from behind.

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry snapped, without bothering to sugar-coat his words. He entered the dormitory, leaving a worried-looking common room behind. He found Seamus lounging on his four-poster with a magazine in his hands.

"Hey, Seamus." He was instantly reminded of 'the moan,' that someone had had sex in this room, on these beds, which had been innocent since they took them in first year.

Seamus looked over at him from the top of his magazine. He sat up. "Good morning, Harry," he replied with false cheer and looked back at his magazine.

Harry had intended on just seething away in some corner or browsing _Useless Magic_ again, but he thought the former was childish and he could not do the latter since the book was downstairs with Ron and Hermione. He saw that all was not right with his Irish House mate, and now that he was here he could perhaps ask a few questions: he was still curious about the moan incident. Perhaps this could get his mind over his self-hatred and disappointment.

"Seamus," he prodded in a sudden trepidation he could not quite understand.

The other Gryffindor looked up from his magazine and raised a ginger eyebrow. There was a sombre droop to them, and his lips were curled downward in a slight frown.

Dismissing his original question, Harry asked, "Are you all right?"

Seamus looked a little taken aback. "I'm fine, Harry," he answered, but it seemed his tone convinced even him he was a poor liar. Harry approached the bed and sat down on it. Merlin, now he did not know how to ask this question, especially now that it was established Seamus was bothered by something.

"You want to talk about it?"

Seamus looked up at him, but quickly shook his head and put on a smile. "I'm fine, mate. Ain't got me kilt in a bunch. How about you?"

Harry shrugged. "Fine, I guess." Before any awkward silence could arise, he plunged ahead, "Seamus, do you know who, er, who... who..." He knew he was already turning pink.

"Yeah?"

Harry blinked furiously. "I just, er, wanted to know, who, er, moaned a few minutes ago..."

The other boy was on the verge of bursting into laughter at his expense seeing how hard it was for him to articulate himself without turning redder. But Seamus's amusement quickly vanished as he looked sheepish and grew spots of pink on his cheeks to patch Harry's.

"Oh, er, that was—that was me. Sorry."

Harry grew alarmed – the boy probably thought he was homophobic or something. "Oh, no! I mean, I don't mind that you moaned that a—I mean, you have sex with whom you want to, right? I don't mind at all, I was just wondering..." What was his question? What was he wondering?

"Yes?" prodded the young Irishman.

"You had sex...?"

Not his most intelligent question.

Seamus stared at him blankly. "Er, having moaned, I would assume so, yes," he deadpanned.

Harry flushed in embarrassment. These kinds of hazards were always there when one was discussing such matters. He cleared his throat. "I just mean... what did it feel like? Wait, is gay sex the same as, er... normal sex? No, that's not right – it can't be. What I mean is wh—what does it feel like, I guess is what I'm asking? It's still sex, right? What you did? With Dean?"

At first Seamus appeared apprehensive to answer but Harry's genuine curiosity brought him around. "Well yeah, it is sex, I guess. I mean, you can't call it sex only when a boy and a girl done it, right?" Harry nodded vigorously. "So it was sex. And you wanted to know how it feels?" Harry nodded again, more embarrassed.

Seamus rolled his eyes upwards and parted his lips in a silent moan of ecstasy.

Harry's eyes bulged, and his lips too parted as his jaw dropped. It made his intrigue burn more fiercely (not about gay sex specifically but the general idea of sex, of receiving pleasure, notorious pleasure).

They both laughed. "So you, er-" Harry cleared his throat. "-you actually put your thing into him?" His cheeks were on fire again but his eyes were gleaming.

Seamus seemed more relaxed talking about it. "Actually it was the other way round," he giggled with a shy little flutter of his eyes. But Harry's eyebrows immediately creased. He did not understand. How can one get pleasure when one is being pumped into? Should he not be feeling pain? The bloody bloke is ramming it up there!

Seamus rolled his eyes to the stars. "Straight people – don't know a damn thing about their bodies…" he whispered. "Harry, Harry, Harry," he tittered. "In your body, up there-" He gestured skywards with his index finger, hoping Harry caught on, which Harry did not. He was forced to be blunt. "In your arse there's this place where if you just even brush it with your finger, Merlin's kilt, you feel like you'll explode!"

Harry's jaw dropped.

"It's like electricity and fire all at once going through your body. When er-" The boy cleared his throat, "-when Dean was, you know-" Harry nodded vigorously, both boys blushing furiously once more. "-he was hitting that special place and it felt... soooo good, it was beyond anything I've ever felt!" Harry swallowed and he wiped his forehead. "And he kept hitting it until I couldn't take it anymore and I came. It feels good both to be bottom and to be the one on top. But of course Dean wouldn't even go there, he wanted to top."

Harry's throat had gone dry. He pushed at the neck of his shirt to relieve some steam. "So you enjoyed it as much as he did? And he didn't hurt you?"

Seamus nodded.

"Wow..."

Seamus guffawed at the enthralled look on Harry's face.

Harry was vaguely indignant at first being the butt of a joke but was soon laughing at himself and his questions as well. Merlin, he needed to get laid. Even gay blokes were getting it on!

When the hysteria died out, Harry asked, "What are you reading?"

Seamus handed him the magazine, laying down on his bed, a smile lingering on his face.

Harry took the proffered magazine and studied it. It turned out to be _Witch Weekly_ and the page it was open on was a list of the sexiest male school-going teenagers of that year in the Wizarding world, with pictures of the faces of the boys next to the names. Apart from Hogwarts, Beaubaxton and Durmstrang Harry did not recognize the names of the many other schools on the list, such as Lamphere Academy, Wallstone Prepatory School of Magic and Merivale Institute of Magical Tutelage. The list was dominated by Beaubaxton.

Harry was not surprised at all to find Draco Malfoy in the top five at number five on the list, surpassed by three students from Beaubaxton and one from Wallstone. The top two Beaubaxton names had a 'V' in parenthesis next to them. Looking down at the key, Harry found that it stood for Veela. He snorted. Malfoy was almost entirely surpassed by Veelas. Who had a shot against Veelas? Their effect probably worked even on paper. It was ridiculous, a near farce, especially considering the rarity of male Veelas. So Malfoy was practically number three on the list, and Harry did not think Fabian Giovanni had anything on Malfoy…

His amusement shortly fell, however. Now those very same famous looks that landed him on this list were playing to his disadvantage. From what Harry gathered – in fact he was certain of it – Voldemort was taking a soaring and disturbing interest in Malfoy. He was captivated by Malfoy's body – the pallor that underlined his purity, the lack of impurities such as moles, pimples, or scars… The simple things: the jutting bones of his hips, his fingers – kept, long and thin… even the boy's mere knees, his mere feet!

And it was not just physical. Voldemort was delighted by Malfoy's naivety – the mere naivety of being a teenager, of never having seen crimes with his own eyes, not having witnessed the atrocity that was life itself. Voldemort was deranged and perhaps this had prompted a second meeting. Perhaps the letter Malfoy received this morning was a second invitation…

A girl's magazine was not exactly Harry's cup of tea, so he gave it back to Seamus. His spirits were higher than before he had walked into the dormitory thanks to Seamus, at whom he smiled as he rose from the bed and, rather than keeping to himself and give himself over to mild brooding, and feeling more sociable after their chat, exited the dormitory and came down the stairs into the common room.

He was met with worry faces. He ignored them pointedly and marched over to his two friends. Ron was shooting glances at Dean that were meant to be surreptitious but anybody could easily read his blatant resentment towards Dean, and Hermione appeared thoroughly uncomfortable with the whole situation, especially since it was obvious Ginny and Dean wanted to be alone. So Harry grabbed the both of them and led them outside.

The three of them climbed out of the portrait hole and made for Hagrid's hut for a little visit. Gryffindor had the Quidditch pitched booked for two o'clock and it was only nearly midday so they had some time free until then. Harry also wanted to tell them about the whole Slughorn issue, feeling that he still needed to vent out some leftover steam. And besides, he had promised them he was not going to keep secrets from them.

Ron stopped walking.

"You mean... You-Know-Who is immortal?" cried Ron in a small squeak, his face twisted in a horrified grimace. As usual, he oversaw the operative word, in this case, 'might'.

A small frown was creasing Hermione's brow as he remained silent. Harry was in no doubt her brain was working fiercely.

Harry nodded miserably at Ron, looking down as he kicked away a stone as they approached Hagrid's hut. Hermione flung her arm in front of him haltingly.

"There's no smoke coming from Hagrid's chimney. I don't think he's here."

They proceeded towards the hut and knocked on the wooden door. No answer came and no oversized dogs barked. Ron came around to the window and peered into it and reported nothing.

They spent the rest of their time traipsing the castle. Harry went on to tell them everything he knew about Professor Slughorn and Voldemort. Approaching two o'clock, Harry and Ron made their way to the Quidditch pitch, where they were joined by the rest of the Gryffindor team, all clad in practice gear, before a rigorous session. After flying around and catching multiple Snitches, Harry trudged along with Ron and the rest of the team off the pitch towards the showers. Whilst being kissed by the hot water, Harry looked down at his body and assessed himself in light of _Witch Weekly_'s list of beautiful people, in which he did not feature:

What was regarded as attractive?

Was it the length of one's prick? Harry seriously did not want to consider that.

Was it a six-pack? Although not too defined, Harry did have a significant showing of six faint blocks on his torso which now glistened impressively with water.

Was it biceps? Again not impressive but faintly defined.

Was it height? Harry cursed the Dursleys for his stunted growth, which had resulted from their harsh abuse of him.

Was it looks? The glasses were not helping any and his unkempt, raven hair was not doing him any favours either.

Harry dismissed these musings, playing the whole charade of the beautiful list down as foolishness. _Seriously, what on bloody earth does Malfoy have that I don't?_ Harry quickly cut off that train of thought – thinking about a bloke in the shower, especially considering he knew said person's body quite well, was just not on. He stopped the running water and quickly dried himself off.

It was around five o'clock. Ron immediately grabbed his arm for a game of wizard chess, which saw them to the late hours of the night. Harry called it a night not long after, very early at nine o'clock, what with so many disappointments, especially with himself.

Thus he now stood at the foot of his bed, alone in the boys' dormitory, still energetic and fresh. He was scared of his bed – it gave him terrible nights. He stood there, frozen, eyeing his pillow intensely, accusing it of perfidy. He did not know whether he wanted to sleep or not. He was staring at the question in the face: to Occlude or not to Occlude? Should he meditate and have a better chance of eluding his visions? Or should he not so he could find out whether that letter Malfoy received that day was what he suspected it to be? Was Malfoy going to be with Voldemort tonight?

He started pacing, chewing on his nails. If Malfoy was back at Malfoy Manor with Voldemort, he, Harry, should not block his mind so he could… do what? See how Malfoy suffered again? Watch as that sick, twisted, repulsive megalomaniac raped Draco again? Then again, should he just ignore it and get on with his life? The question of all questions… Harry released a grunt of frustration. He did not know whether to feel disgusted with himself or what. To Occlude or not to Occlude...?

Harry chose.

He slept.

He is in the same room he was in the first time. The fire is cackling calmly to the right of the room, mirrored on the left by a tall, ornate mirror on an antique, mahogany dressing table. The room is warmly lit, large, and very welcoming. It did not tell that here lives a sadistic, evil man. Harry gives a titillated, cruel grin. Young Draco was due in only a few…


	10. Comehither

**Chapter 10**

**Come-Hither**

The door, adorned with two intricate carved 'M's, opens slowly.

Draco slinks into the room, completely rid of all that was unnatural, naked. Harry's glittering red eyes decadently soak up the beauty standing haughtily and unrepentant in its glory.

Draco closes the door and slowly pads over to the bed.

Already Harry feels the last vestiges of his resolve floundering… It is beyond ecstasy…

Draco's smooth skin gleams in the light of the orange fire as he comes closer and closer, his bare feet silent on the wood-panelled floor. He reaches the bed and climbs onto it slowly, sits on his haunches in the middle and bows his head.

"My Lord."

Harry smiles at the beautiful boy. "Draco... You were quite entertaining last night, so I was compelled to make another appointment."

Draco does not know whether the words were derisive or solemn, and he does not react. What had been entertaining? His screaming and crying as the man raped him?

Silence ensues in which Harry takes a moment to marvelling at the boy again, still in awe of the effortless provocativeness of Draco's body… Long, sharp, upturned nose; silver eyes; his small, slender hips; his thighs, his legs; his delicate, petite feet; the upturned instep of it.

Draco keeps quiet, keeps still, knowing that the red eyes are greedily taking in all of his naked form and he dares not hinder them.

In the vast quiet, Harry speaks: "Dance for me, Draco."

Draco's head jerks up without his permission. "My Lord?"

Harry holds those uncertain grey eyes with his own. "I said dance, boy." A soft hiss, just teetering on a deep growl.

Draco stares into those scarlet slits for a moment, taken aback by the alien order, and as he gazes bemusedly into them, he realizes he knows who lies behind those terrifying, red slits. He knows that behind them lay a startling, natural, pure green – Harry Potter. His Gryffindor rival is in the same room he sits in – the boy had told him so… Perhaps it is better to serve Potter, a human, than to serve a maniacal man reborn into serpentine form. Draco slowly rises off the bed, his eyes fastened upon Harry's slit eyes.

The boy looks uncertain as he stands there. _Yes, perhaps a little motivation_. Harry reaches for his wand: a shudder breaks the boy's body, the eyes grow wide in fear. Amused, Harry points it at an armoire in the far depths of the room, and a rectangular contraption floats into the light of the fire. Harry levitates the object onto the adjacent dressing table. An indulgent grin spreads across his face.

"There, Draco, now you can dance." He taps his wand, and slow, graceful, soothing music whispers through the air.

Draco turns back floored grey eyes to Harry.

Harry smiles – it was a lipless, thin, depthless line across his flat face.

Draco closes his eyes and swallows.

It starts at his hips. The music kisses over his thighs and snakes up his body, and he obeys and sways into its caress. Listen to the music, follow the music… And his body moves in the beginning of a sinuous dance, as elegant as a lynx.

Harry cannot help a lustful growl from issuing from his mouth at what he sees. _This is life!_ He exalts. He keeps silent, his shaking hands tightly clenched on the sheets in a futile attempt at self-restraint.

The boy's arms rise and roam all over his alabaster-pale skin. The head is thrown back and long, silver-blond hair hangs freely in the air. The hips sway and twist gracefully as long fingers slide over chest, stomach, hips and thighs. His head then comes up and fixes into his own. The boy slowly moves forward, as silent and purposeful as a predator, and slowly descends to the bed, and crawls over to him.

Harry is beside himself.

Impossibly soft pads touch his naked thighs and ascend slowly up his body. The boy slithers between his legs, still keeping him captive in his deep silver eye. There is a look in them suffused with something he cannot quite place. He holds those eyes, those come-hither eyes, as the boy's hands snake over his abdomen and his thighs settle softly on top of his middle. He can feel the victory of life, the powerful, purposeful rush of blood coursing through the small thighs. Harry is amazed at the boldness of the boy, at his ability to look at him fearlessly in the eye, when only yesterday he could not even stand to do so. Harry finds it seductively compelling and all the more detrimental to his rapidly breaking self-control. The boy's hands rise up and sweetly caress his neck as a lover would, then his face to explore his features.

"My Lord." Such a sweetly innocent tenor.

This proves to be the last he can handle. One hand slowly and strongly grips a delicate wrist, and he gives a low hiss so saturated with lust it comes out as a dismal stutter.

"Draco…"

The boy looks a little surprised at his hold, but Harry maintains it, having lost all his reserve at the boy's show of moves. He lets his own hands explore the boy's body in reciprocation, enthralled by its perfection. Draco's arms circle his neck and his head lodges in the cleft. Harry's spidery hand travels down the pale back, down to those beautiful orbs of flesh. He crushes one cheek possessively in his hand, and the boy releases a sigh against his neck, whether from fear or yearning, Harry cannot tell and, requisitely, he does not care.

Draco surprises him still further by following the length of his arm down to where he held that one cheek. His head comes up, and he looks straight into his eyes. Then Harry feels the boy's hand tentatively take a hold of his manhood and aligns it to his entrance. This proactive acting is endearing, of course, but it is disturbing something within Harry.

The boy is so close to him Harry hears him swallow bracingly before he slowly pushes down, and slowly starts rocking up and down his shaft. Harry, captured by the boy's forwardness, which is quickly turning to be unusually temerarious for him, remains motionless and lets him continue. Perhaps not all is as it seems. Nonetheless, he is too inundated with dazing pleasure to question anything anymore, and so he just succumbs to the enthralling allure of the heir.

Draco continues the smooth movements of his hips as he rides Harry. His pale, slender hips rock sinuously into his middle and back out as he impales himself diligently. It remains so for a few more seconds before-

Draco suddenly halts, gasps, his eyes lose focus and his thin, shell-pink lips part in silent testimony. The boy starts moving again but with more vigour, and upon every down stroke, a... moan... issues from his lips… He gasps again, and unknowingly, his motions begin to speed up, his breath to catch. His arms hold on tighter onto Harry's neck as he bounces on top of him, exploring this new and wonderful sensation. But he suddenly burst into tears.

Draco cries. He does not understand why he was feeling good, why he was enjoying this. He was supposed to be repulsed, not feel so amazing and wanting more.

The boy moans louder and gasps heavier, in either misery or pleasure, again and again, and his humping becomes more passionate. He throws his head back as another, more breathy, whiny moan escapes his lips. His face scrunches up and shines with tears. Harry does not understand. His red slits bore into the intense expression on the nymphomaniac's face.

But Draco speeds on, rides Harry's penis up and down and continues to hit that... place inside him that keeps sending jolts of electrical pleasure twirling up his spine. He is disgusted with himself but it just feels so good he cannot do anything but want more, eyes rolling into his head… More, he needed more, just more. _Feels... so... gooah... Harry... _

Then, in the middle of his ragged panting and mewls and the slapping noise of his buttocks coming down on Harry's thighs, he feels the air still and quieten very peculiarly. It is a silence unlike one he had ever heard before… The music had stopped. Even the cackling of the burning fire in the hearth seemed to have been smothered by an unknown force.

Feeling a horrid trepidation rising in him, and euphoric, bittersweet fog of sensation withering fast, Draco brings his head back up and looks straight into the silent, still slits of Voldemort. He stops moving.

By the sheer fury behind Voldemort's shriek Draco was catapulted off the bed, into the air in an arc of flailing naked limbs and hair, and crashed into the wardrobe before landing painfully on the floor in a heap.

Voldemort rose from the bed. "What is this?" he yelled at the prostrate body on the floor. "Do you wish to defy me, Young Malfoy? You feel brave enough to entertain your own indulgence! Do you think this was for your own pleasure? Answer me!"

Draco sat up from the floor, rubbing at his sore spots, and clasped his hands together in deference. "No, my Lord! I never meant to defy you!"

"Lies!" Voldemort shrieked. "All lies! Enjoying yourself, weren't you, Draco? The pretty whore you truly are!"

Draco cried, "No, my Lord, I—I-"

"SILENCE!"

The fire went out and cast the room in darkness.

"You mock my punishment – mock I, Lord Voldemort!"

The terrifying name echoed in blackness as Draco sobbed, looking up into the blazing, crimson slits of the Dark Lord, hovering in nothingness. "No, my Lord, I didn't-"

"_Crucio!_"

"Harry!"

Harry screamed and thrashing in his bed. "Draco! No, no, Draco!"

"Harry! Wake up, it's only a dream!"

Harry's eyes flew open, and tortured, emerald marbles turned to worried chestnuts.

"Ron! He—I—He... Draco – Malfoy..."

Ron put a comforting hand on Harry's shoulders. "Harry, it's okay. It's okay, mate."

Harry closed his eyes in horror. _No, this can't be happening again_. He panted wildly and wiped his sweaty face with the back of his hand, shaking his head despairingly. Releasing a pained sigh, he stared into the nothingness in front of him, his pure, green eyes sombre and reeling.

"I came to tell you Sirius' downstairs in the fireplace," Ron said, grimacing sympathetically down at his friend. "Twelve o'clock, remember?"

Harry looked up, slightly surprised. Yes, he remembered Sirius' owl in the morning. He scrunched his eyes shut again, feeling himself quiver, his breath still catching.

"Do you want to go to Dumbledore to tell him about your dream?" Ron asked uncertainly.

Harry buried his face in his hands and shook his head. "I don't know…" came his muffled voice, as he made vague, defeated gestures with his hands. He remained motionless for a moment, quietly overwhelmed with dread and horror. Then he slowly looked up to Ron through his fringe. "Tell Sirius I'll be down in a few."

He heard footsteps moving away from him before the the door clicked shut.

He wanted to cry, to scream for all he was worth. To stay in the dormitory for the rest of year. But he threw off his sheets. His worst fear was realized: his sheets were wet, and he knew the exact moment when he had climaxed: when Draco slowly threw his head back in that breathy moan, his long, divine neck extended. That image – so profoundly enthralling, so inherently destructive to anyone's rightful senses – had undone him. It was too beautiful a moment, too beautiful a sight. Apparently, Draco had also discovered that special place in his butt about which Seamus had told him.

Harry buried his head in his hands again dismally.

The words of the very person in his dream came back to him…

_Maybe I'm no bloody different from Voldemort… Maybe I'm just as twisted…_

Maybe he was just as desperately captivated by the merciless allure of Draco Malfoy.

Maybe he was no bloody different from Voldemort.

It just could not be happening…. Oh, Merlin, when Draco came into the room naked... Seeing him so... not completely naked in the superficial sense, but seeing him so utterly basic, seeing him in the inherent purity in being naked, in the simple majesty of raw nature, and actually recognizing the male form as beautiful – something that never crossed Harry's mind before. Form was designed to be functional, so how could its maker make it so pleasant to behold…?

Pardonably, perhaps he found Draco's body beautiful because it represented exquisite, unfathomable life. Perhaps, less excusably, simply because it was Draco. _Fuck…_ the mere bracket shape of his bow legs, forming an oval space between them, was dizzying to him... Draco could move. Draco was seductive. Draco was provocative and he knew it... That come-hither look in his eyes had spelt disaster for him from the beginning. His every moan had shaken Harry's body, every touching inch of skin had electrified him, every brush of that white-blond hair had sent him soaring to the heavens, his every pant on his skin had made it simmer beneath… And the warm lick of his insides as Draco rode him… unimaginable…

Of what was Draco not capable? What was Draco not capable of making him feel? The Slytherin had taken him from fear for him in front of Voldemort, sympathy at his hurt, and in his dreams... ecstasy. In his dreams, it was physical, superficial. But now this insinuating, captivating possession for Draco was transcending out of those dreams and into reality – into him – into Harry, and it scared him almost as much as every visit of Draco's to Voldemort.

He lay in his four-poster bed holding his head in his hands. If he had never been before, then he was now most certainly and royally screwed.

…But apart from his self-ignominy, his utter humiliation in discovering just how much Draco affected him, and just reeling from it all, he also felt a lingering, silently simmering anger, perhaps remnants of Voldemort's own fury at Draco in his dream...

…Floating forth the image of a crying and naked Draco on the floor, cast in darkness, his eyes holding so much fear in them as he looked up at him, and being tortured at Voldemort's wand… Harry leapt out of his four-poster and had just enough reason in the flight of his rage to grab a school robe to conceal his wet spot and protect him from the coming chill. Emeralds alight, jaw jutting against the skin of his face, Harry mechanically glided down the stairs, eyes only for the portrait hole.

"Oh there you are, Harry. Sirius has some interesting news for..."

The fire and the face in it died out as Harry's rage swept past.

Ron and Hermione gaped in Harry's wake after watching him climb out of the portrait hole. They noted the flickering candles of the common room and the desolate fireplace which had been alight only a moment ago with Sirius' smiling face. They exchanged bewildered looks before leaping up and following Harry in haste.

_Why isn't Dumbledore protecting Draco? Didn't Draco ask him for his protection? And he still let that monster torture him besides raping him again!_

_Insolent fool! You dare mock me, dare pleasure yourself? You despicable excuse of a being! You'll live to regret the moment the first moan left your lips! Crucio!_

Harry's quick strides echoed in the hallway. The light of each torch he passed flickered weakly and wavered, and the tall windows rattled on their frames in his wake.

So incensed was he that he did not hear a second and third pair of footsteps following him.

_Draco's being tortured with the Cruciatus right now! He went back to Voldemort tonight after Dumbledore promised to protect him! Dumbledore is a hypocrite – a useless, dying hypocrite!_

_Do you truly think I did this for your own benefit? That I punished you with servicing me so that you could ride on the throes of ecstasy? You betray your father's loving efforts and I regret showing you mercy on his behalf! This was your final blunder, young Draco – you will shortly learn what true excruciation is! Tortus!_

"Lemon Drop!"

The gargoyle jumped aside and Harry climbed onto the ascending stairs.

In the depths of the partially darkened hallway, Ron and Hermione held back at bit and let Harry ascend the stairs alone rather than approach him when it was clear he was looking to kill.

Hermione hoped that would remain figurative.

The stairs stopped at the top of its ascendance and Harry stomped ahead to the large doors of Dumbledore's office.

Then the doors flew open with a flurry of dark robes.

"Potter! What the hell are you doing here?" Snape hissed, as he secretively closed the doors behind him. "You seem to have an awfu-"

"Step aside, Severus," ordered Harry dismissively, as he made to pass Snape.

If Snape was surprised by his given name passing Harry's lips, and by his temerarious and disrespectful urgency, he did not show it. For his hand did not hesitate to attempt to manhandle Harry before he let him past. "Dare speak to me like that ag-"

"I said step aside!"

Untouched, Snape flew off his feet into the wall opposite and landed on the stone floor, unconscious.

Harry proceeded forward and flung the doors open.

A derisive laugh. "Don't flatter yourself, Headmaster, I was merely requesting that we..."

Harry stopped in his tracks just inside the doorway, mystified for one, stunning second.

"Lucius."

The tall, elegantly donned figure of Lucius Malfoy stood in front of Dumbledore's table, his body slightly twisted backwards to face him, and a cool, patronizing eyebrow raised in question.

"Mr Potter, what a pleasant surprise," came the refined drawl from the patriarch, who turned around fully and his steely grey eyes gave him a dismissive once-over. The trademark white-blond hair rested gracefully on his broad shoulders, and a patented smirk curled the one side of his lips. "Still quite alive, I see."

Harry stood there, his green eyes focussed upon grey ones, so much like Draco's…

"Lucius," Harry hissed as he slowly crept into the room, "I didn't think it of you to turn traitor."

Lucius' eyebrow rose higher and his forehead furrowed with a slight frown.

"Not so soon at least… This is below you, Lucius."

Harry suddenly turned to his side, leaving a steeled, calculating, wary gaze from Lucius, and took in the petite, graceful person of Narcissa Malfoy. Her golden-blonde hair was styled in a tight bun, her blue eyes were gazing sharply at him and her hands and legs were crossed regally. He slowly prowled towards her.

"Ah, Narcissa my dear. You dare turn on me as well?" he lilted sweetly with a smile. A pale, teenage finger slipped under her chin and tilted it up to the green eyes to capture her pale-blue ones. "As much as your... polite detachment from my service has saved you from my hands thus far, be certain it will be no mercy you'll enjoy from this moment forth."

Realization blazed in Lucius Malfoy's face and a horrible fear seemed to freeze him rigid where he stood. The grey eyes stared at Harry not blatantly, incredulously fearfully, but with stunned acuity.

"Mr Potter," he managed to say in a steady voice, "Would you care to explain why you're harassing my wife?"

Outside Dumbledore's office Hermione gasped at the unmoving figure of Professor Snape on the floor after she and Ron ascended the spiralling stairs. They rushed to him in the vestibule and knelt down to try to rouse him awake.

"Professor Snape!" Hermione whispered as she shook the man's shoulders, while Ron hauled the professor in a sitting position and propped up him against the wall. Snape grimaced as his eyes slowly opened and his hand rose and rubbed the back of his head.

Ron headed for the door but a firm grip halted him. He turned back to the Snape, who shook his head, piercing Ron with his black, depthless eyes. "If you go in there, you'll likely live to regret it. If you live, that is..."

Ron and Hermione eyed Snape back with floored expressions before turning towards the doors, behind which something apparently they did not want to see was happening.

Snape surreptitiously drew his wand and gave it a twitch.

Harry whipped his head back to Lucius, green eyes sharp and cunning, and a sadistic grin curving his lips. His finger slipped off Narcissa's chin. "Your son shows me unthinkable impertinence, Lucius. I told you he would reveal himself for he truly is," he hissed. "He was enjoying my body and seeking out his own pleasure from it. I think we can say with conviction that he is truly a pretty whore and was meant to be one."

The portraits were in pure heaven. Some had actually capitulated to their curiosity and approached the fore of their portraits the better to see and hear what was going on. Phineas Nigellus Black was looking absolutely mesmerized by this darker version of Harry. Armando Dippet could not keep his eyes off him as well, though the ex-headmaster looked more horrified than pleasantly mesmerized.

The grin fell as a sharp glint flashed in his emerald eyes. "He is yet to attain the document I charged him with doing. He's useless and will thus fittingly serve a far lesser duty," Harry charged, with a leering grin. He prowled slowly to Lucius, as fluid as a snake. "I will feed your son to that distasteful species Fenrir. Lord Voldemort does little mercy, Lucius – you should know this. Perhaps a little loving from him will straighten young Draco out – if he survives of course. Tell me, Lucius, how would you find your one and only heir contaminated with werewolf blood?"

Malfoy remained silent, and no emotion played on his bloodless face.

Dumbledore slipped his wand furtively into his robes from view and stood up from his seat, coming around the table just as Harry's laughter fell when his gaze fell on him. Dumbledore clasped his hands in front of him and as his blue eyes watched him with wary warmth.

"Harry," said Dumbledore.

Harry's lips stretched into a malevolent grin. "Dumbledore," he spat.

Dumbledore remained silent for a moment, holding Harry's gaze. "Harry, you can fight this. Do not allow Voldemort to control you like this. Remember the ones you love, the things you care about," he beseeched sternly.

Harry blinked.

He then threw his head back and released a bark of laughter. "Yes, a refreshing reminder of your foolishness, old man!"

"Think about how angry he makes you because of what he is and what he does," Dumbledore ploughed on shamelessly, "what he's doing to Draco. Think about Draco."

At least the name struck a chord. Harry's silent mocking giggles fell, astounding Snape, Ron and Hermione, all of whom were watching through the narrow fissure of the door.

"Despite your longstanding differences, you still care about him, don't you, Harry?" Dumbledore smiled warmly at Harry as he enquiringly raised an eyebrow.

Harry started.

Conflicted, swirling emerald orbs gazed back at Dumbledore.

Draco – the slimy git.

_Draco – useless invalid!_

Draco – scared for him.

_Draco – serve my punishment! _

Draco – care about him.

_Draco – my pretty catamite!_

Draco – love him.

_Draco... What is this…?_

Harry collapsed to the floor.

Lucius grabbed his wife to flee for Malfoy Manor.

"Mr Malfoy!" Dumbledore said as he stooped down to pick Harry up from the floor.

White-blond hair whipped around as flaring silver glared back.

Dumbledore, looking nothing his age as he effortlessly held Harry in his arms, gazed back at Lucius with equal intensity. "I do realize the severity and urgency of your circumstances, but as you're now regarded as perfidious in the Dark Lord's eyes, it is perhaps prudent we discuss this matter properly before taking any further action."

Lucius turned around to face Dumbledore fully, letting go of his wife's arm. He gave the boy in Dumbledore's a grief, fearful look, and a muscle in his jaw jumped.

"I'm going to get my son, Headmaster. Assuming you don't suffer from selective hearing, you heard what the Dark Lord's going to – or _is_ – doing to him. You have said you appreciate the urgency."

"I certainly do, Mr Malfoy," answered Dumbledore calmly. "However, as superb as I believe your duelling skills to be, hoping you can handle all of Lord Voldemort's-" The two Malfoys flinched. "-Death Eaters at once is perhaps a tad ambitious?"

"Foolishly ambitious," interjected Black. He seemed less enthralled with the Malfoys.

Lucius pretended he did not hear the portrait and gave Dumbledore a sharp look. "I wouldn't need to do so if I pleaded my case, if I crawled back to him right now with convincing contrition," he pointed out silkily.

Dumbledore gazed back at Lucius steadily for a moment. "Mr Malfoy, you needn't act so rashly-" Lucius' head tilted sideways in incredulous condescension. "-I believe it would be far better in the end if you have us by your side. Voldemort-" Another muscle in Lucius' jaw jumped. "-forgive me – the Dark Lord, as he has said himself, is not lenient towards failure and betrayal. I don't believe you want to find the limit of his tolerance if you quiver at the mere mention of his name." Lucius' chin tilted even higher proudly. "I beseech you to remain our ally. I can assemble the entire Order and have them rescue your son safely without the both of having to leave this office."

Lucius did not answer for several moments. Then he had a calculating gaze in his eyes as he combed over the proposal. "Distantly presuming you rescue Draco successively, I still have the manor to lose as I couldn't risk returning there…"

"Believe me when I say we are preparing diligently against the Dark Lord. I give you my and Potter's word your son will not be harmed."

Lucius gave a single, refined bark of laughter, and then he took a deep breath that was tell in of his exasperation. "Dumbledore, my son is possibly, as we speak, being either tortured by the Dark Lord himself or... harmed by that despicable Greyback. We will take our leave now. Thank you." He cast a disdainful look at a rousing Harry before whirling around and pulling open the doors. "Cissa," he said to his wife and followed her out.

"Wait." A somnolent slur.

Harry's vision was stubbornly blurred but he defiantly fixed his eyes at the white smudge in front of him, which was Lucius' hair. He gave Dumbledore a thankful, if embarrassed glance and made to stand on his own two feet, wondering how an old man could carry a teenager like that. Then again he must not weight much. Dumbledore readily obliged and put him down on the floor. Harry only vaguely remembered feeling angry towards Dumbledore when he had woken from the nightmare, but for the life of him, he could not exactly recall anything that happened after that. He looked ahead through the aperture of the door at the now rapidly sharpening figure of Lucius Malfoy.

He watched the man step inside once again and glare at him mildly. He had an air of urgency about him.

"What is it, Potter?" Malfoy hissed through seemingly unmoving lips.

Harry scrunched his eyes shut for a second and opened them again to combat the blur. "Draco. How can you allow Voldemort to do... what he does to him? Don't you care at least about your own son?"

Snape, Ron and Hermione slipped into the office just as Lucius stepped forward and made to slip his wand out of his snake cane, a snarl on his lips.

"That isn't necessary, Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore warned calmly, just as Ron and Hermione whipped out their own wands and trained them on Lucius. "That includes you two as well, Mr Weasley, Miss Granger."

The two wands lingered at Lucius for a few seconds before Ron and Hermione warily lowered them but did not stow them away. In all of this, Lucius' stony glare had not wavered from Harry and his expression had not changed. He slowly lowered and unhanded his cane, and tossed a few strands of hair off his shoulders.

"Watch your tongue, boy. You needn't enlighten us with your..." Lucius' eyes shot to Snape and back. "...valued opinions." Both men's lips twitched for a moment. "You don't know what you're talking about. No doubt you're exerc-" And just then Lucius seemed to realize something. Harry was inclined Lucius just realized that if he had been possessed by Voldemort that night as well, then Harry probably did know what he was talking about. Lucius fell silent, his eyes once more still and stunned in quiet incredulity.

"I DO know what I'm talking about! I bloody see what he does to him every nigh-" Harry stopped sharply, and his uncertain eyes shot to Ron and Hermione before quickly returning to Lucius, assuming their previous heat. In that moment, all, less Ron and Hermione, shared the same fear: Harry exposing Draco's predicament. Lucius' gaze narrowed on Harry.

"Harry," Dumbledore inserted in the hiatus, "do you perhaps wish to lie down for a while? You took a serious fall. I'm sure you feel fine but I don't think Poppy could forgive me for not following proper protocol." He chuckled a little at his words.

Lucius' upper lip curled backed.

Snape smirked at Lucius' reaction in turn; obviously, Lucius wasn't vastly acquainted with Dumbledore's humour, or lack thereof, perhaps. He waved his wand furtively, and at the same time, Ron and Hermione stopped frowning.

"Yes, Harry, you took a bad fall and hit your head. Sit down," Hermione commanded firmly, after shaking her head as though to snap herself out a trance and in a tone that told Harry he was better off obeying. Ron nodded for him to listen to her as he prodded the insides of his ears with his fingers, looking similarly disoriented.

"I'm fine," Harry ground out curtly, standing his ground. He had only eyes for the man supposed to be Draco's father, the principal man who was supposed to protect him.

Lucius effortlessly matched Harry's glare. "This little reunion of sorts is all well and good, but I do need to get going." His eyes swivelled up to Dumbledore. "Unless you can guarantee my family's safety and continued possession of the manor, Dumbledore, I cannot waste my time here any longer. Severus," he said in farewell before sweeping out the office again with his wife.

Harry was hot on their heels.

"Malfoy!"

Harry did not completely understand why the man was here in the first place, but he did know that he was doing nothing to help Draco, his own son. Perhaps Malfoy had been here to ask for that help from Dumbledore tonight. But Dumbledore was useless! He made promises but he did not live up to them! Before disappearing into the vestibule, he turned an angry glare at said person, shocking his friends.

"Malfoy!"

He followed the man down the descending spiralling stairs and into the hallway, where he saw Narcissa Malfoy standing majestically. Her long, sweeping purple robes fell down her graceful figure. The chin was level with the ground and the hands clasped. Her face was now pensive, thoughtful, but if Harry's eyes were not deceiving him, he spied a slight, upward curl to her lips that made her look wistful and blissful at once… Her petiteness and extremely refinement almost justified her air of superiority…

She held onto her husband's arm as he approached. Lucius was ignoring him and proceeding with his wife down the hallway.

"Why aren't you doing anything to protect Draco from that sadistic snake?" Harry demanded.

Lucius Malfoy did not deign to look his way. "I told you to mind your incorrigible tongue, Mr Potter. Otherwise I can easily relieve you of it." He held up his snake cane indicatively. Daring not to take this as an idle threat from a Death Eater, Harry hesitated but nevertheless kept up with them. "I needn't tell you this, but I am doing everything I can at this moment, so kindly depart from my vicinity, Mr Potter."

Harry faltered and lingered back, watching the blond heads fading into the darkness.

_I can't just watch Draco suffer anymore. _

"I'm coming with!"


	11. Manipulations & Machinations

**Chapter 11**

**Manipulations & Machinations**

"No you're not!" Hermione screamed at once. Harry, are you crazy? You can't just go to the Malfoys'!"

She appeared with Ron and Dumbledore around Harry. Snape was absent. Harry really did not need his nagging friends and Dumbledore's increasingly irksome presence at the moment.

"Besides, I shouldn't have to tell you you're not welcome," Lucius tossed over his shoulder.

Unshaken, Harry made to follow them but a firm hand took his shoulder. He swatted Dumbledore's hand off and glared up at the infuriating eyes of brightest blue.

Hermione looked beside herself with incredulity at Harry, peeking up at Dumbledore with the corner of her eyes, fearing what he might do to punish Harry for his disrespectful conduct. Ron was making a solid effort to study the surroundings as he wrung his hands in discomfort.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, with a fatherly look down at Harry. "You cannot let your emotions decide for you right now. We have to go about this sensibly."

Harry detested Dumbledore's calm voice refused to be swayed by it. "So I'm over-emotional now?" he charged.

Dumbledore kept a steady eye at him and allowed the moment of silence that passed to answer Harry more eloquently than he ever could, the echo of the words telling Harry he had gone over the line by quite a large distance. But he remained defiant at Dumbledore.

"Harry, please!" Hermione begged in a hushed whisper. Ron was grimacing as he tentatively peered up at Dumbledore, plainly expecting him to react harshly to Harry.

But Dumbledore simply kept cool. "If you follow the Malfoys, you risk all three of their lives by allowing them to be seen with you. What's more, you will risk capture by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. If he's capable of perpetrating such atrocities, as you have personally witnessed, against the ones closest to him, I daren't imagine what he may do to you – his arch nemesis."

Harry's blazing eyes shifted from one side to the other, his glare softening with his indecision… They stared into the space in front of him as he tried to find a reasonable loophole in what Dumbledore had told him. He knew the man was right, but he did not have to like it. But... Draco was being hurt – he was still in danger…

"I can't just stay here knowing what's happening to him! I have to do something!"

Dumbledore laid a hand on his shoulder, which he did not have the courage to remove this time. "The best thing you can do is getting the memory from Professor Slughorn."

Harry could not look into Dumbledore's eyes after these words. If only Dumbledore knew how spectacularly he had failed at that. He received a commiserating look from Dumbledore.

"Professor Slughorn handed me his Leaving Letter only moments after the two of you left my office this morning," Dumbledore said, his beard twitching slightly. "However, I managed to persuade him to stay just a few more days." One blue eye twinkled at him.

Harry tried to lie to himself about how even slightly calming Dumbledore was being right now but he could not: the twinkling eyes and the homily familiar and grounding experience of being in Dumbledore's presence when he was in fine form, dropping gems of knowledge, lines of humour and waves of assurance…. And not to mention surprises – he was full of them… He was perceptive and prudent… He was cunning… He was... manipulative – he took his mail without giving it back; he promised Draco refuge but Draco still hurt under Voldemort's hands; he sent him away with old men with fat fingers and enterprising faces so he could do his biddings. And now he was letting the Malfoys leave to make do with their own devices to save their son.

Emerald orbs sparkled and relit with renewed defiance and resentment. "That's it? Just get a memory while Draco is under the Cruciatus Curse? Why can't you just perform Legilimency on Professor Slughorn and get it yourself?"

Dumbledore's expression hardened, and all kindness was extinguished from his eyes. "You're speaking of very intrusive magic, idea of which I have made an oath not to entertain. I am most ashamed to be – forgive me – rather extremely proficient at it than most men. But as skilled as I am I will never use it for my gain without the express permission of the person on whom I wish to perform it."

Harry could not believe his ears. _This is total hypocrisy!_ With tremendous effort he pulled himself away from the verge of giving Dumbledore a mocking round of applause. "This is a war and you're having moral conflicts? Aren't we supposed to do everything besides kill and torture to win? We _have_to win, right? Have I got that right?"

Hermione shook her head woefully as she looked on at Harry, disappointment shining in her tearful eyes.

Dumbledore gave a short sigh, looking wistfully into Harry's eyes, as though he had lost the boy he had known for four years. "No, Harry, we do not. We are not like them and shouldn't employ their devious practices." Dumbledore paused, for a moment seeming to be lost for words as he looked at the ground. He looked back up at Harry and sighed, "Don't let this battle destroy you, Harry. You can still be good and survive. We must make do with what we can afford. This is the exact reason I was desirous for you to be proficient in Occlumency – you are emotionally vulnerable as long as you house that connection with Voldemort."

Harry shook his head. He was being beaten at every avenue he tried here. In a defeated, unguarded, low voice, he cried, "I just want to save, Draco. I just want him safe. Can't I have that?"

Dumbledore smiled softly. "I know, Harry, I know. But I have to insist that you cannot afford to be seen at Malfoy Manor. Harry, listen to me, listen to me very carefully." Dumbledore's air was suddenly serious.

Despite himself Harry piqued warily. He looked up at the bittersweet image of his headmaster. He was still battle with his extreme dislike and resentment for him but he could still appreciate this unusual urgency about him. Dumbledore seldom looked this grave.

"I might soon have to give you information that is going to be crucial in defeating Lord Voldemort in light of my shortening time."

Harry's eyes sank to Dumbledore's blackened hand. He had to believe it someday. He nearly hissed at the man, 'Don't say that!' But he knew it would be futile.

"That is, if my suspicions are correct. The memory. Harry, right now, just focus on getting the memory – that is all I ask of you. Then, and only then, can we see where we can go. Until then, we should not approach Lord Voldemort. This will be a crucial time in your life, as well as the Wizarding world, because then we will finally know if indeed Voldemort is truly immortal or not. Had we been certain of this, I would surely have accompanied you together with Mr and Mrs Malfoy to their home. It all relies on this one memory, Harry. I deeply lament charging you with this, but I have no other choice. I do not wish for any one of us to want to resort to anything remotely close to Voldemort's wicked ways."

Harry deep down knew all of this – that one should not sacrifice one's morality for victory – but he thought, _It's just reading someone's bloody mind! It's just a quick in-and-out! Who cares if we go just slightly bad in order to win?_

Harry had the mind to reel at this one at last. He took a breath and realized just the dark nature of his thoughts. What was he turning into? He could not afford to change Voldemort was affecting him more and more as each day passed – he was slowly controlling his life and smothering his freedoms. First it was that depression-like state he fell into back in the summer. Then it was... Draco... just him and Draco. And now it was his heart, his morals, his very ethics. He could not let this vile, insidious force continue to spread inside him. He needed cures, and those were Occlumency and the memory.

He swallowed thickly, and he looked down at the unyielding, unsympathetic, dispassionate cobblestone floor. And he found no answers in them. He felt Dumbledore squeeze his shoulder.

"Harry, we will get through this. We just have to do what we know we have to do."

Harry did not know whether Dumbledore expected a reply. He nodded once without looking up, resigned, and felt the hand slip off his shoulders.

"I believe it's time you three get yourselves into bed – it's well into Sunday. Sleep well."

It was a dismissal. Harry, Ron and Hermione turned around and set off up the corridor while Dumbledore ascended the spiralling stairs and returned to his office. Only then did Harry become aware of Ron's and Hermione's; for half of the conversation with Dumbledore they had been something of an afterthoughts. Nevertheless he did not care much to calculate how much they had heard, how much he had revealed and how close they were to piecing things together for themselves.

They made their way back to Gryffindor Tower in silence. Then a shadow passed over Harry before he suddenly took off, stomping ahead, his hands fisted on his sides. He took Ron and Hermione aback. The both of them exchanged looks before quickly following.

"Harry, mate, what's with you?" Ron asked tentatively, as his long legs easily kept up with Harry's swift strides.

"Harry, what are you thinking of?" demanded Hermione, a shrewd glint flashing in her eyes. And then they widened to the size of two Bludgers. "You can't honestly be thinking of..."

"That's exactly what I'm thinking of, Hermione," Harry said in a calm, conversational manner as though they were having tea at Hagrid's. He looked back at the empty hallway. Malfoy and his wife could not be far. He started running.

Hermione stared wordlessly at Harry's back for a few moments, speech abandoning her. Ron was looking at her confoundedly, unsure as to what to do: follow Harry and risk her wrath or stay with her and _still_risk her wrath.

"Harry, you can't be serious! You'll get yourself killed!" Hermione shouted before breaking into a run, Ron behind her.

"Constant Vigilance!" Harry yelled at the snoozing Fat Lady. "Hey! Wake up, lady, and let me through!"

Ron and Hermione caught up, and Hermione was not finished with him. "Harry, you're not going to the Malfoys'! I can't believe you pretended like that in front of Dumbledore!" She looked so shocked that Harry was capable of deception and that perhaps he was not as straightforward as he was before.

Harry thought if Dumbledore could be manipulative then so could he. He spun around so swiftly he caught Ron and Hermione by surprise, and with his green eyes gleaming with a spirited, unwavering determination, they both appeared as though they knew it was all lost before Harry even opened his mouth.

"I'm going to Malfoy Manor whether you're coming with me or not." He back around and banged on the Fat Lady's large face. "Constant Vigilance!"

The Fat Lady mumbled something before there sounded a suspicious noise came from her after she moved a little in her sleep, at which Hermione's jaw dropped and she clucked at her disgust.

"Constant Vigilance!" Harry roared, and finally the Fat Lady jumped out of her uninhibited nap and swept open, muttering about obnoxious teenagers sneaking out for late-night rendezvous. Harry flew up the stairs, Ron right on his heel, but Hermione got as far as the foot of the stairs, where she dug her heels into the carpet and crossed her arms across her chest. Her lips were pressed upon each other so hard that they seemed to disappear altogether.

"Harry James Potter, you're not going to Malfoy Manor! It's too dangerous, Harry! Why do you have to always save some damsel who's always in distress! Don't you see? There's always going to be someone needing saving! You can't save them all by yourself!"

Harry proceeded into the fifth-year boys' dormitory after catching a growl of frustration from Hermione below. He went for his trunk.

Ron hovered between Harry and the door. "Harry, mate, you can't be serious. Malfoy Manor? It's probably a bloody gothic manor with chains and dungeons and its own lightning and ghosts and house-elves and…! Look, you don't have to do this – Dumbledore will sort all of thi-!"

"Don't you dare tell me about that man right now!" Harry hissed furiously, as his hands threw item after item out of his trunk. He could not care less if he woke up the other boys. Then he froze as he was about to throw _Useless Magic _over his shoulder to the other stuff and looked up at Ron. "Are you coming with me?"

Ron's face vacillated indecisively for a few seconds before a resigned sigh pushed his shoulders down. Harry did not even need to hear the answer but continued searching for what he was looking for in his trunk, while out of the corner of his eye noticing Ron preparing himself as well. His heart suddenly constricted his windpipe… They were actually doing this. Now that he had worked off some of his adrenaline throwing things out of his trunk with satisfying abandon, the actuality of what they were about to do sunk in.

They could be killed. They stood a chance to face Lord Voldemort. Harry felt a slight whisper of fear ghost around his throat, constricting it further, and he tried to shake it off. Could he risk his dying with his friends for Draco Malfoy, the snot-rag git who had taunted them relentlessly for whatever reason felt convenient, as well insulting their bloodlines and overall worth, all in very colourful language? Draco might have been refined in his more sedate moments, when the three of them were not within his vicinity. But Harry knew he could still wield a good stock of expletives upon notice and readily throw his head back in laughter at someone's expense.

These sedate moments were mostly when he was not surrounded by his fellow Slytherins. In the rare occasion when they found him alone, Draco would then seem to be less... expressive, less obvious, less... less Malfoy, Harry guessed, and more... more like the Draco of his dreams. The soft, nuanced, calculating, smaller boy. And it hit Harry as he thought about it. He had never seen it like that.

In the few times he and Ron would accompany Hermione to the library, Malfoy would sometimes be there, and he would not deign to look their way to dignify Ron's scowl and his own admittedly similar expression. What about the Saturday when he and Ron were going down to the Quidditch pitch and found Malfoy just sitting there, looking at who knew what? He had not said anything to them, much less looked at them.

Furthermore, perhaps less rarely, when Malfoy travelled the corridors alone, he would scarcely approach them. Most of the time he would merely toss a stinging remark across at them as they passed, and this never failed to elicit a reaction from them. And in that brief exchange Draco seemed to be... to be... to look smaller, finer, smoother. He would be more... he would be sharper – his eyes would be ready, silver bullets, his stance would be more forward – more engaging, and his speech would be more subtle, articulate, and clipped. Perhaps this was when Draco was himself most. Perhaps in those moments he was least guarded. Perhaps there were two different people there. Or perhaps Harry was just hoping for all of that...

Reinvigorated by his revelation, which made him feel he was doing something somewhat more honourable, Harry pulled out his Invisibility Cloak and Sneakoscope. They were going to save Draco, then, not Malfoy. They were going to save that almost insultingly beautiful boy from that disgusting thing that was a definitive insult to humanity.

Before shutting the lid of his trunk his eye was shaved by a silver gleam. He lifted the lid up again and reached into the trunk and grasped the hilt of Sirius' dagger. He studied the ornate weapon with hasty awe, without much of a clue as to what role it would play in his mission. But he claimed it anyway and quickly shut the lid of his trunk.

He came to his feet, and his adrenaline-soaked blood surged back to his legs again. He urgently strode to his bed and plucked his wand out from under the pillow he hadn't the mind to grab before going to Dumbledore's office for some reason. He was developing a dangerous tendency to do that, he realized, but he couldn't mentally berate himself because at that moment, his brain began diligently producing harrowing images of Draco's alabaster, marble body being defiled in the sickest of ways.

As though on cue Ron finished his packing the moment Harry did. He was holding his wand, a cloak, and a few useful items from Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. They met at the door, which Harry opened and then powered down the stairs, determined to get through Hermione when he got to the bottom.

Her jaw dropped. "You're actually serious…" she breathed as they passed her, apparently having expected them to remain upstairs after seeing sense. Snapping out of her dream-like state of disbelief she hounded them towards the portrait hole. "Harry, Ron! What on earth has gotten into you two? Ron!"

Harry would have felt bad seeing Ron looking so torn apart. In fact he had no time for it and was not thinking straight. His thoughts were strictly on Draco and getting him away from Voldemort, _Just... just get him away, get him safe... please._For one, stunning moment before he broke into a run without warning Ron, he thought about why on earth he was actually doing this, how much he was risking and just what he was actually doing. And in that same instance he had all the answers to those questions.

The shorter, raven-haired figure hurtled down the corridor, the other, taller redhead keeping up with long, gangly legs. As the two ran past each portrait, the faces cursed with increasing creativity along the corridor.

"Harry, Ron! Wait! I'm coming!"

As far as he was down the corridor, Harry could hear the furious mutters that followed those words, which probably went to the tune of, "Can't believe I'm actually going on this futile rescue operation! Honestly! Three school kids! Ridiculous!"

Ron held back a little for her, shooting a covert glance at Harry, who, however, was not waiting. He streaked down the corridor, his dark school robe billowing snappishly behind him in a manner of which Snape would have been proud… Or perhaps not… From behind him he heard Ron snarling something to Hermione. Then, in apparently renewed haste, her footsteps stomped louder and faster down the hallway. Harry and Ron rounded corner after corner before slowing down near the Entrance Hall. Sneaking up to the doors, they were finally joined by Hermione, together with her heavy, irritating pants. Why did she not just do some lung exercises with those huge tomes of hers?

Harry pushed the large doors open, and there, an unmistakeable beacon: in the black distance, the tell-tale sign of platinum-blond hair glimmering distinctly in the night, now swinging furiously from side to side in the patriarch's haste. A dizzying wave of relief slammed into Harry but it was soon survived by panicking urgency: the two small figures were rapidly approaching the school gates.

"Let's go!" he hissed at his friends, before taking off down the grounds in a crouch, hearing their footsteps following him from behind. Before diving behind the glass wall of one of the greenhouses, to say he was overwhelmed by panic would be an understatement when he saw just how close the Malfoys were to the gates. Heart arrested mid-beat, Harry flung all reason out of the window and ran for the two bobbing blond heads in the low distance.

"Harry!" he heard Hermione whisper behind him at his reckless abandon. He did not care – he needed to get to those two. As he ran in a half-crouch he pulled his Invisibility Cloak around him. Being under it reminded him of the times his friends hid under it; his feet faltered contritely and looked back over his shoulder at them. Ron caught up quickly while Hermione trailed behind.

Harry did not know why he was acting so independently tonight. Perhaps he was going through a personal, internal experience. And he also did not know why he was reluctant to talk either. He wished his feet would just get him to the Malfoys already.

Finally both Ron and Hermione caught up. Harry threw his Invisibility Cloak around them all and together they ran down on the stooping pathway to the school gate, their legs in tenuous synchrony as they battled the gravel and the hem of the Cloak. Hermione prudently cast a Silencing Charm to kill the noise their shoes made with the driveway gravel.

Their collective necks swivelled to the dark, empty hut of Hagrid's as they moved along quickly. Neither of them spoke, enveloped by a new sense anxiety that suddenly arose at the sight but continued jogging down towards the two figures, having just enough time to slip through the school gate before Lucius swung it closed.

They then watched the two Malfoys stand in the road. Lucius' gloved hand delved into a pocket of his robe and pulled out what appeared to be a thick hairpin with glittering diamonds twirling around it from a pearl head. His wife's arms locked into his.

"Portkey," they all whispered at once.

Extremely slowly they approached from behind. Suddenly they found themselves in a unique air. Their noses picked up subtle notes of perfume. Lucius' robes and Narcissa's dress gave a rich shine under the dour moonlight. The tight bun on Narcissa's head was immaculate and Lucius hair was a stunning sheet of white pouring down his back without a single lock out of place. Their minimal and inorganic movements too were most alien. In summary the two of them smelled and looked like class, and Harry almost felt like he was an insult to it standing in their presence. He tried to dismiss this as firmly as he could, convincing himself that appearances were not everything.

Before they knew it they heard a faint drawling mutter. Harry's breath caught in alarm. His hand shot to the hook of Lucius' other arm, damning the consequence of being felt, and his sudden movement jerked his Sneakoscope out of his pocket and onto the ground. He felt the instant pull behind his navel and the accompanying nausea. His lungs were squeezed together with his mass as he saw the world give way.

Hurtling through a colourful kaleidoscope of blurring structures and whipping scenery, Harry soon found himself in front of huge, wrought iron gates with two 'M's overlaying each other at the top and a wording under them written in some indistinguishable language. The new air was dark and cool, crisp and suspicious. He stared through the gate at the large edifice that loomed there in darkness.

He threw off the Invisibility Cloak off and looked around feverishly as he breathed small puffs of mist in the cool air. Where were Ron and Hermione? They were supposed to be right beside him.

It looked like he was on a private land – there were no other immediate structures as far as he could see, which was not much in midnight darkness. He looked back to the smooth stone path leading up to the grand mansion, its enormous structure eerily shrouded by black shadows. Ron and Hermione were nowhere to be seen, and now he had to go against that all on his own? He immediately regretted how isolated and single-mindedly he had worked when they were preparing to arrive here. He should have known his selfishness would come back to bite him much sooner than later – and here he was. He was scared beyond his wits and stranded in the middle of Merlin knew where. Where was Malfoy Manor in Wizarding Britain? If Dumbledore was right that this place was Unplottable, then Harry was royally hapless – nobody would find him.

But he had actually done this… He had gone from the Hogwarts grounds to the unpredictable vastness of open Europe. Harry slowly along the length of the gates, bumping his hands along its railings. What was he to do now?

But, assuming Malfoy's parents were already deposited inside the manor, why did the Portkey land him here and not with them? Perhaps only Malfoys or purebloods were allowed to do so. He stared longingly at the mansion. Draco was in there, being tortured, or raped, or whatever other whim that captured Voldemort. Harry shook his head, refusing attention to the disturbing images that had suddenly emerged. He could not think like this. He should not allow… He heard footsteps. Harry froze, heart stuck in his throat, panic rushing blood furiously through his ears.

"Don't be daft, Rockwood! The Dark Lord will reward me! He promised me a taste of that sweet thing, the prince of the manor himself! I've been looking forward to tonight for a very long time! Always wanted to wipe that smug smirk off that Lucius Malfoy. This will do just about that!"

Harry struggled to keep his breathing as low as possible under his Cloak, unable to believe what he was hearing from the approaching obtrusive voice, trying to wrap his head around it all. The footsteps shuffled closer, and Harry could hear another different voice – this Rockwood probably. Harry took his Cloak and flung it around him. He carefully crouched to the furthest side of the gate, the noise of his shuffling feet on the ground swallowed by the rushing blood in his ears.

They were talking about Draco like some piece of meat to be shared! That gruff, growling voice was so indulgent it was disgusting. How could a man think of an innocent schoolboy like that? Did he not have a wife? Why was Draco attracting men? The wrong sort of attention? It was making him suffer! Looks were not meant to make him suffer. They were meant to get him girls and popularity and success – not this unthinkable lust from men three times one's age!

Shakily drawing breath, Harry squinted into the ground before him as he heard the two footsteps drawing nearer. Finally he spied two figures in dark robes approach the gates in quick steps. The taller one looked the most urgent. They both stood in front of the gate and Harry watched them touch their wrists to the railings. The large gate instantly opened in a slow, graceful, eerily soundless arc. Spontaneity accosting him, Harry sneaked through the gates with the two men, his fear rising as he crossed the threshold into the property of the Malfoys. He followed the two figures in a crouch from a safe distance behind.

These were Death Eaters. He found himself in their presence once again. Followers of Voldemort, indiscriminately malevolent, heartless to the core. They did not discern life from death, they took life and placed death in its place. It was their daily charge, it was their daily bread, and with gruesome pleasure they ate it – Death Eaters.

Harry wished his Invisibility Cloak could cover the whole of Hogwarts, as it now felt smaller, lighter, weaker, less perfect, less powerful. He was standing mere yards away from Voldemort himself! His mind was half absent and half there as he followed Rockwood and the larger man to the looming edifice ahead. He thought he smelled wet dog from the taller Death Eater – a poignant, thick, repugnant odour. _Argh! _

It then hit him, a small flash of inspiration in his mind. He had seen, or heard, or mentioned, or experienced this smell somewhere, or whatever reminded him of it. Where did he smell it before, if he ever did? Harry gripped harder and harder onto his Invisibility Cloak the closer he came to the ever-growing mansion. On each side of the smooth stoneway sprawled a sea of striped grass, and if his ears weren't deceiving there was a soft sprinkling noise of more than one fountain near. In front of the elevation of the first terrace was a colourful stretch of various flowers The place was huge.

He made sure to keep his footsteps as light and soundless as possible. His heart was beating monstrously against his chest and his adrenaline was settling at the bottom of his veins again, making him jumpy and edgy and feel constricted in the quiet, warm space under his Cloak.

"So have you good news for the Dark Lord?" Harry heard the shorter Death Eater ask.

His companion seemed to rustle uncomfortably at this. "Of course I do!" he yelled into the night in a raspy voice. "What do you think I am? Suicidal! The Dark Lord's already agitated as it is by that whole Malfoy clan. Do you think I'd come back only to upset him even more? It would be the last of me!"

"Can't say that's not a right shame to hear."

The taller Death Eater growled and aggressively approached Rockood as if itching to pounce on him. But he restrained himself and then grunted loudly before quickening his pace. Rockwood promptly matched him. Harry, too, crouched a little faster behind them towards the manor.

* * *

"My Lord, it was my plan to get closer to the Potter boy, not to betray you – I wouldn't dare." Lucius kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes, seeking to be absolved for the sake of his family. Nagini flicked her tongue dangerously at his bending form.

"Take your seat, Lucius," Voldemort commands quietly.

Lucius' swift but almost stilted strides took him to the other end of the long, mahogany dining table. He took the furthest seat from Voldemort, next to his wife on his left.

As soon as Lucius' chair stopped creaking there crashed a deafening silence into the room. The Death Eaters seated on each side of the table, tense and edgy, made small movements which attested to their discomfort. Meanwhile Voldemort's red slit eyes were boring into Lucius from the other end of the table. A moment later a malevolent smile curved his lipless mouth.

"You lie, Lucius. Lord Voldemort always knows."

Blue light from Voldemort's wand hit Narcissa in the chest. A terrible shriek fills the room as she is lifted slowly from her chair and feebly fights off the invisible ropes binding her. Her face is contorted with absolute fear. She flailed her legs and her designer shoes flew off her feet as she is laid in the centre of the table. The Death Eaters leered at her petite struggling form, at the jerking limbs and spinning head. But she cannot do anything against the force that pressed her down on the table and spread her legs apart. her.

Voldemort's slitted nostrils moved up in his face as a sneer of disgust took over his face. Lucius' stoic expression remained as the eyes of the Death Eaters around him gleamed coldly down at the inviting scene before them.

Voldemort gave a sadistic grin. "I'm terribly disappointed, Lucius. You've been a most useful and impressive servant thus far, and have been loyal to me for so long a time. It's a shame you've let yourself come to this point…"

Voldemort kissed the cool scales of his snake as the great doors of the manor opened and shuffling, urgent feet could be heard. Lucius' eyes swept to the two cloaked figures that entered the room. They approached Voldemort and bow lowly on either sides of him.

"My Lord," the two gasp in unison.

"Rockwood, Fenrir, welcome. Take your seats." Voldemort sneered again as his red, gleaming slits watched Fenrir loom over the table and take his seat amongst the others as though he were of their kind. "Fenrir, I trust your mission went well?"

Fenrir threw his large build out of his seat as he rose and bowed his head at Voldemort. "Yes, My Lord, it did! The werewolves are with us! They will listen to you, My Lord! I think we had a spy in the pack: that Lupin character was always a little bit dodgy! Rest assured I went after him but he managed to escape me! But I got a good swipe of him before he got away!" Fenrir gave an evil, self-satisfied grin, revealing his large, yellow teeth gleaming with blood. "My Lord, may nothing perturb you – you command their loyalty for the big event and beyond!"

Voldemort's breath hisses as he inhales in immense satisfaction. A soft grin breaks out on his face as though he were hearing a delightful melody. "Excellent," he said. He kissed Nagini again and inhales slightly, his slit nostrils flaring. "Rockwood."

The tall figure two seats from Lucius' right bowed his head in his seat. The comparative sedateness of the gesture highlighted Greyback's natural boisterous and crude carry. "My Lord, the giants have swayed our way. That useless oaf Hagrid tried to gain their trust for old Dumbledore's side but we managed to fend him off in the end. It's certain the giants will fight for us, My Lord."

A rumble of excited mutters filled the room. Voldemort ran his long, pale spidery hands across the bulging length of his snake, caressing it lovingly like Harry would his Firebolt. He smiled coldly.

"That excuse of a giant Hagrid is still there, and as fiercely and foolishly loyal to that champion of commoners as ever. How would he find to have his own cousins crush him with their feet...? I remember Rubeus Hagrid… quite vividly, in fact. It is a shame, a priceless shame, indeed..." He smiled again. "Nott, do tell us your findings, they're sure to be interesting."

The slightly large man seated two seats from Rockwood prepared himself to speak. Perhaps it was the large jowls on which his head rested as he looked down at the table and smirked at it that made him seem all the more pompous.

"My Lord," he said, "my son Theodore has reported to me that he has seen the Potter boy coming and going to Dumbledore's office quite frequently these days. He'd seen him start to do this from two weeks ago. Potter has been receiving messages from Dumbledore as well. His fellow Housemates tried to reveal one of the messages but they were always blank and Dumbledore always sent them with random people – Slytherins even." Nott turned a cold, even bigger smirk at Lucius, and the atmosphere quivered and thickened. "When some Housemates asked Lucius' boy to lift the concealment charms on the letter, since he's one of the brightest student in Slytherin, he apparently didn't oblige."

Lucius continued to stare blankly at the air in front of turned his head slightly in his direction. A small smile played on his mouth before he glanced down at the imprisoned figure on the table. "Continue, Nott," he urged, with a soft, myseterious note stirred within his cold, high-pitched voice.

Only too glad to oblige, Nott swelled his chest and his smirk grew even further into an inflated grin. "It was only two days ago, on Saturday, that he saw Potter again. But this time the boy was with Draco. Cozy, they were, he said. The boys apparently took each other in the arms, wiping each other's tears off." Nott's voice had grown so full of smug it had started to quiver.

Again Voldemort said nothing and did not even look in Lucius' direction. But a grin still stretched on his fluorescent face as though this was all music to his ears. Lucius remained impassive at the other Death Eaters' gleeful looks and vindicated smirks.

Then, there was a suspicious sound, a breathy sort of sound, like a sharp inhale.

Voldemort's cold smile only widened.

Lucius' eye darted suspiciously to each face to try to figure out who had made the sound. Voice quivering, Nott tried his best to keep himself in check as he continued, "Potter's latest sighting was just tonight. He was walking away from Dumbledore's office back to the Gryffindor Tower. But then he came back out and, oh, did he have a serious face on him. He looked like murder, he did. Ran down the corridor with his friends and followed the Malfoys to the gate under what must have been an Invisibility Cloak..."

Voldemort thew his head back and hissed again as he took a deep breath as though smelling the air. "So, we have an unannounced guest with us tonight." He looked aside and stared fixedly at a spot on the floor a few yards from the table, and his biggest, most threatening smile came across his face.

"Do join us, Harry."


	12. The Snake Pit

**Chapter 12**

**The Snake Pit**

Realization blazed in Harry's face. It locked his limbs and nearly shattered his chest. It even stopped the pain throbbing in his scar for a moment. Unable to move, stunned and debilitated by shock, he merely watched as a dozen Death Eaters turned around in their seats and peered very generally in his direction.

Voldemort knew he was in this room.

Breath stolen, senses stifled, and heart crush into arrest, Harry stood motionless, barely responsive as he stared straight at Voldemort's smile.

There was no hope for him.

Could Voldemort see through Invisibility Cloaks? Where were those red slits looking?

Those same eyes glinted. Voldemort raised his wand and hissed lowly, "_Accio Invisibility Cloak_," in Harry's direction.

Harry's breath caught at the back of his throat.

But nothing happened.

He barely sighed in relief.

"Search for him." Voldemort rose from his throne. "Do not kill him. Remain where you are, Lucius." His merciless, cold eyes looked down at the figure of Narcissa lying on top of the table. "Dinner, Nagini." And he swept into the depths of the manor with his Death Eaters, some of whom glanced behind them at the woman lying on the table with looks of disappointment.

Harry willed his limbs to move, and he went off down the lavish corridor, past many male portraits bearing the trademark pale complexion, white-blond hair, and proud expression. Voldemort and his followers were hot on his heels, and he could not move fast as it would alert them of his whereabouts. His breathe sounded like a jet engine and his body felt vulnerable to the smallest physical force.

The Death Eaters behind him, most passionate of whom was Bellatrix Lestrange – the deranged woman he had seen on the cover of the _Daily Prophet_ in the article of the mass breakout from Azkaban – was firing spell after random spell at anything in front of her, causing great damage. Streaks of blue and red whipped past Harry's head as he hurtled down the corridor as slowly and soundlessly as he could without tripping on his Cloak.

Countless other Death Eaters destroyed everything in their path: pedestals exploded and doors were blasted off their hinges. Harry ducked through shattering glasses, ceramic and wood. He slung round a corner and took off down the broad hallway. Relief washed over him at this: with so much more space there was less chance the Death Eaters would strike him. He peeked over his shoulder and horror gripped him as he spotted the cloaked figures spilling into the grand hallway like a torrent of oil and water while some raced up the two spiralling flights of stairs into the higher floors. Doors were blasted opened to fleetingly investigate the room as other fired randomly at the open, trying to strike him by the slightest chance.

Then Voldemort appeared in the sea of black, the tallest of them, striding briskly but calmly, an expression of calm and mild interest in his face. Harry felt a sharp shard of pain slice through his head as his scar burst in agony at the mere sight of him. Barely suppressing a moan he coaxed more speed from his feet. A blue streak of light flashed past his Invisibility Cloak, close to his ear, almost singeing the heirloom. He was holding onto the Cloak so tightly to his body that he was nearly tripping on his knees trying to run. But he had to make himself as small as possible as he ran-crouched along another corridor lined with more paintings, pedestals and intricately carved doors.

He rounded another corner. A wooden splinter flew past him and he ducked down below a purple spell. He ran and ran for felt like forever until his legs suddenly locked and his heart swelled out of his chest. Beneath his panic, desperation and fear as he tried to escape the Death Eaters, ducking flying chunks of wood and ceramic and almost tripping over his own knees, had been a more desperate, subconscious hope: to come across an intricately decorated door with two intricate overlaid 'M' letters – and it stood right in front of him.

Incredulous of what he was seeing, and hearing barked incantations and the manor being blasted apart, Harry was propelled by a force into the room. He quickly closed the door, hands shaking, muffling the destructive noises outside. He turned around, and just as he had suspected, just as he had desperately wished and hoped – Draco's naked body lay on the green silk bed in the dark-lit room.

Immense relief washed over his whole body at the sight, rendering him motionless for a few seconds as he merely watched it. He finally moved towards to the bed. There he was – Draco. He was naked, the fire casting shadows of dancing tongues on his pale legs and thighs and arms and buttocks. And he was not moving. Harry's heart thundered against his chest as he inched towards the bed at the unmoving figure on it, feeling his throat closing up with each step forward. Finally he reached the side of the naked figure. Panic overwhelming him he shook the boy's shoulders. That peaceful, glowing face was so serene and, amidst this raging battleground, eerily unsettling as well.

"Draco." His voice came out only as a dismal, frightened whisper. It was so strange: he saw this person every day in school, he just saw him yesterday in the Great Hall in Hogwarts. And now that person laid here, somehow teleported to his home. Even though he had known it was true all along, that Draco was pleasing Voldemort, it still made it that much more real and glaring to see him in this room. This was real.

He shook the boy again. "Draco!" Another timid whisper, hushed by his stilted pulse. The boy's face moved slightly in a half-formed grimace. It was a victorious moment for Harry, and he rejoiced in it before he heard Bellatrix's psychopathic voice shrieking along the hallway outside the room: she was getting close, along with the other Death Eaters.

Harry's eyes widened in panic as he stared almost vacantly at the door.

Instincts overtaking him, Harry turned back to Draco, took a corner of his Cloak in each hand, holding it like a cape, and jumped onto Draco's back. He brought his arm and legs around the form, wrapping them with the Cloak. He rolled them both off the bed – smoothing out the beddings as he did so – fell onto the wooden floor with a thud, rolled across it and stopped against the wall.

Eyes scrunched shut, absolute fear and panic and desperation encasing him in a universe of his own, Harry held Draco's compliant, terrifyingly limp body tightly close and listened acutely over his erratic breathing at the roaring noise of exploding furniture and walls outside the room. He could barely hear Bellatrix's deranged giggling over the thundering of his heart but Voldemort's cold, high-pitched voice was unmistakable.

"Leave that door to me, Bella."

Evilly simple – evilly damning – evilly fatal.

The one door Voldemort had to go for was this one. He had been coming straight for this door all along.

Harry clenched his jaw shut, scrunched his eyes shut tighter, and held onto Draco more fiercely as he heard their door flung open. The excruciating pain in his scar surged up so much he seized up, tasting bile at the back of his throat, blasting stuttering breaths against Draco's neck.

It was quiet for a few seconds. Then Harry heard the tide of destructive Death Eaters passing the room, still decimating everything in front of them as they carried on down the passage. Then, he heard the heavy clink of boots – it was a stalking sound – it was stalking death. His quiet fear at the back of his mind drifted forward, and it was beyond measure. He thought his immense anger and rage at this man would keep that fear at bay, smother it. But now that Voldemort himself was walking into the room with that slow, clinking pace, he found he was perilously wrong. But perhaps the fear was so much because he was scared for more than himself but for another as well. Perhaps he feared for Draco.

The clinking boots stop moving. There was silence. Silence… Silence… Silence that carried a crushing weight, that made every breath of Harry's sound like clashing cymbals in a quiet funeral, that made every heartbeat feel like another stroke of his signature on his death certificate.

"Draco?" A teasing, singsong voice – a travesty of his merciless, loveless, high-pitched caw.

Draco suddenly shifted. Harry pulled him closer into himself, hugged him tighter, and crushed his chest against Draco's back and his jean-clad erection into the cleft of his bare buttocks. The pain in his scar was slowly killing him. It was a hot nail driving into his skull, robbing him of more consciousness with every throb. He was too scared to whisper to Draco not to move. He was too scared to do anything. He just held on as tight, simple terror and a new, fierce protectiveness waged war inside him.

"Draco?" A sweet, lilting call to doom. "Reveal yourself, my pretty catamite. You know you deserved your punishment, don't you? Show yourself this instant and I may show you mercy."

Harry felt Draco's breath on his forearm catch: he must have woken up. Perhaps he was responding to Voldemort's offer of mercy. Harry held onto Draco more fiercely, feeling betrayed for some reason. He tried to keep his breath as low as possible, tried to keep the both of them as motionless as possible under his Invisibility Cloak. Yet he shook all over, vibrating inside the cloak. His eyes were still shut, he could not see Voldemort – and he did not want to. He could not open them even if he wanted to – his scar was throbbing with blinding pain.

"Very well."

And those words, spoken so quietly and normally, elicited more fear than the highest shout from the Astronomy tower by that same voice. He heard the clinking boots head to the door: Voldemort was not even going to search the room. And before he caught the door clicking shut, he heard a low hiss.

"_Incendio Maximus_."

The room went up in flames.

The giant snake had given its master an obedient, pleased hiss before slowly slithering down the throne and up onto the table top. Lucius glared at it from his end of the table as it stalked closer and closer to his wife, who was not even granted an audience for her death. Lucius was to sit there and watch as his wife was engulfed by the Dark Lord's pet in his own home. The snake started to wound itself around her petite body, and Lucius' glare fell and gave way to an expression akin to resignation on his long, pale face. He dared not touch the great snake, for it would be tantamount to suicide if he did so. As much as he undoubtedly loved his wife he feared the Dark Lord and death more.

He could not just run away from his own home – his son Draco was in the Dark Lord's chambers for the night. There was not possible way out, he had chosen this life, so he all could do now was to stay put and attempt to regain his stature in the ranks.

His wife dying right in front of his eyes, and his son locked in the Dark Lord's chambers, a small smirk suddenly spread itself across Lucius' face. He drew his wand from his robes and gave it a twirl without taking his eyes off the scene atop the table. Then he pointed it at a cupboard, the doors of which opened and from it, out floated a contraption. He levitated it across the room until landing it softly on the table. He tapped the object once with his wand and his favourite classical music from Wizottini filled the air.

Coil after coil, note after note, Lucius remained with a wan smirk and hooded eyes. The music floated over the sound of blasted doors and exploding tiles and pedestals, over the shrill cries of his sister-in-law and the other Death Eaters, and over the pathetic, panic-laden stutters of his name from his wife's lips, "Lucius... Lucius… Lucius…" as the giant snake continued to wind around her.

He, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, accommodated the Dark Lord graciously. His master lived under his roof, he raped his son, and now he was killing his wife slowly: the Dark Lord had his home and his family: the Dark Lord had mastered his life.

Lucius magicked over the wineglass from the table and a bottle of red wine that had been manufactured at one of the villas he owned stretched from Scotland to France. He poured it and, with a bleak smile, toasted to the snake and its countless coils, just as the snake swallowed her feet.

Perhaps his wrongdoings had caught up with him finally. Perhaps in a snake pit what goes around comes around.

The entire room was up in flames.

For a moment, in the roaring blaze that threatened to engulf them, Harry did not move, irrationally hoping that something miraculous would happen to save them and the raging fire would never reach them. He vaguely felt Draco starting to move again. The other boy squirmed weakly against the cage of limbs in which he was locked, but they did not relent, and he could barely move in the suffocating cocoon of the Invisibility Cloak.

"Potter?"

The voice came as a low rasp swiftly swallowed by the roaring and cackling flames that were eating up the curtains and climbing the bed. Smoke was starting to fill the air, and a thin layer of sweat covered Draco's skin.

"Potter?"

The limbs suddenly jerked to life: Harry rolled them over away from the wall and opened his arms and legs wide. They felt cooler air hit their skins with relief. Draco was slowly getting off him onto his feet while Harry, still on the floor, could only watch the scarlet inferno dance around them. His scar still hurt but not as much as it had when Voldemort had been in the room. The fire was everywhere: it licked up the walls, the bed, the curtains, the furniture. It was not the behaviour of a natural fire – it was too efficient.

Wearily Harry stood up and waved at the air in front of him to clear the smoke so he could breathe. He folded the Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it in one of the nooks of his school robe. There were no windows in the room because they were in the heart of the manor. Harry turned his eyes back on Draco: the Slytherin was looking around in awe at the burning room, horror-struck, his arms folded around his torso protectively, legs bent slightly, and his white-blond hair illuminated by the surrounding flames. Harry noticed he was completely naked. Again.

"Draco!" he shouted through the raging fire and billowing smoke.

The boy turned to him squinting. "Potter!"

Harry nearly cried with joy when he heard his name through those lips again. He was assailed by an impulse to hug the boy. He had come all the way from Hogwarts to see this boy, to save him. And here he was. He might have been hurt but he was still whole and seemed to be sane still. And just as beautiful as ever… Harry was not in his right mind –hormones and adrenaline were pumping across his body in a furious battle. Nevertheless Harry felt vindicated and validated that he had found Draco.

But right now they were in danger. There was no way out other than through the door. They could not stay in the room and go down with it in a flood of flames. They had to go through that door – they had no choice. Curtains and curtains of flames swept across the room, more smoke furled against the ceiling, gathering and getting blacker the longer they stood there. Draco peered up at the ceiling as he coughed from the smoke: Harry caught a glimpse of an orange, extended neck. He religiously dismissed the little things he noticed in this perilous situation.

"Malfoy, we have no other choice, we have to go through that door!" he told the other boy.

And nobody was terrified of that more than he was. His scar still throbbed, which meant Voldemort was still nearby. Draco turned to him, and his face did not suggest he was going to argue the point because he looked simply terrified, silver eyes widened and dancing with fear. Draco had been traumatized by that twisted snake. Harry felt a rush of anger at Voldemort, and another impulse to hold Draco in his arms and comfort him.

"We have to get out of here, Malfoy! We have no choice. We can't stay here. Let's go!" Harry hand held Draco's arm. He slowly started leading them towards the door, swatting the smoke in front of him as he crept along. The pain in his scar stabbed deeper into his skull with every step forward, which could only mean one thing…

He was desperate and frustrated, and he realized they were at a dead-end. They simply had to keep moving towards the door. His scar grew unbearable the eyelid under it started twitching wildly, impeding his vision, whereupon he strengthened his protective hold on Draco, who crept along right behind him.

They reached the door. A stuttering gasp escaped Harry as his hand came up to the ornate doorknob. He twisted it and pulled open the door, hissing in pain at his scar. The door slowly revealed a tall shoulder. Harry's heart leapt in his throat and his grip on Draco's wrist turned crushing. He vaguely felt Draco's fingers scrabbling at his hand to try to lessen his grip.

Slowly pulling the door open, he saw the beginning of a hood. Opening further, one red, gleaming slit came into view. Then an evil grin. Then a flat nose with tall nostrils. And then another red slit. Harry started to shake. He had only been this close to Voldemort once before and remembered the horrible feeling of it. Harry opened the door fully, revealing the whole figure of Lord Voldemort standing in the corridor. A wand was trained at his chest.

It was over.

He schooled his features into an expression of defiance and held onto Draco even harder.

The gleaming, skull-white face grinned. "Harry, we meet again..." The slits looked beyond him. "...and my pretty catamite."

There was no one else stood in the hallway. Harry did not steer his face away from Voldemort but held those eyes. Perhaps they would be the last thing he would see.

"It was because of you, Harry, that I was able to sniff out a turncoat amongst my Death Eaters. A pleasant surprise, it was, when I found I could leap into your mind… So similar we are... So furious we are at the world… It can never satisfy. It can give us what we want – dreams, love, safety, power… more power… I imagine you were as furious at someone as I was with sweet Draco here. This can achieve so much for you, Harry. Imagine the power you could harness from it. Imagine your power with mine combined, how much we could achieve, how far we could go, how much we could acquire."

Harry continued to stare at Voldemort, his chin with anger and fear. What did Voldemort mean he had 'leapt into his mind'? He glared back at Voldemort defiantly. "Are you asking me to join you, Tom? I'm nothing like you!"

"Very well."

Harry's heart froze.

Flashing red slits, a lipless grin.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Emerald eyes went alight with incoming obliteration.

Green, absolute annihilation.

A swooshing, rushing, stalking death.

The colour of his eyes, where his soul blazed, the colour where his soul ceased.

Touched him in the sternum, so precise, so artful.

He felt nothing. It was a sweet close, a merciful separation, a wonderful lullaby.

The spoken words that breathed life into his legend sought him again and took it back.

Draco watched as green luminescence toppled Harry, and weighed upon by the body, heard another heavy thump on the other side of the door.

Harry Potter had fallen.

And the Dark Lord had fallen…

There was dead silence save for Draco's heavy breathing and the consuming fire in the room and the distant noises of destruction as Death Eaters swept the manor.

Draco looked at Harry on the floor, and on the other side of the door, Voldemort's vacant, pale face through the gap of his pointed boots. Draco's arms visibly shook under dead weight as he pushed the body off before coming to his feet. With patent effort he tried not to look into Harry's eyes, for they were a vacant lime, a husk of their previous blazing emerald. And Voldemort, whose dark robes were spread out on the floor as though he had bled a pool of oil around him, his red slits nowhere to be seen but replaced by a cream opaqueness. His wand had rolled out of his pocket and stopped near his head.

Instinct seemingly fighting apprehension at holding a dead body, Draco crouched down and scooped Harry up from the floor. Large volumes of smoke suffused the room now and the fire was ravaging everything and it was everywhere, embracing the room in a hellish hold. Draco braced himself and pulled the limp body up and backward out of the room, clutching and minding Voldemort's body.

As soon as Draco laid down Harry's body on the hallway floor the warm flush in his face due to the heat from the room vanished, replaced by a pale, terrified expression: he spotted a dark figure descending the hallway, wand drawn at his side. It then stopped suddenly where he stood. Draco's eyes fell down at Voldemort's body and shot back upwards to see the Death Eater proceed towards him once more.

"I didn't do it, I swear! I didn't kill the Dark Lord!"

The Death Eater continued to charge down the littered hallway; Draco threw up his arms defensively, wincing in fear. But the Death Eater stopped suddenly again, and his mask swivelled downwards at the unmoving body of Voldemort. Perhaps the Death Eater could not believe what the slits of his mask were showing him, for he merely stood there and looked on at the body for several moments.

Then he looked up and caught sight of another body behind Draco, and tentatively he stepped over Voldemort and looked back down at Voldemort again as though he did not believe he had done what he had – step over the body of a seemingly dead Dark Lord. The Death Eater finally tore his eyes from the sight and faced Harry's lifeless body. Snape took his mask and hood off, whereupon Draco's breath rushed out in visible relief. Snape peered down the length of his hooked nose at Harry's body with an unreadable expression. However, his Adam's apple bobbed for quite a spell. He turned to Draco.

"Are you all right, Draco?"

Draco gave a vague, silent nod and Snape returned it.

Voldemort started to rouse. His white slits gave way to a weak, scarlet gleam that squinted up at Snape.

"Severus…" It was a broken, raspy whistle.

Snape looked at Voldemort quietly. He must have been struck by the beauty of the irony: it was only weeks ago that Dumbledore, leader of the Order of the Phoenix, had looked so far-gone, kissing death as he slouched behind his desk. And now Voldemort, leader of the Death Eaters, slouched against the wall just as Dumbledore had, weakened from near death. Snape bore into the depthless slits silently before he brought his wand up and, his face twisting in absolute revulsion and hatred, yelled, "Avada Kedavra!"

Draco watched as green light hit Voldemort straight in his chest, just as it did Harry. Voldemort did not move the slightest as the heartless, scarlet slits rolled back once more. Draco turned an incredulous expression on Snape, who said, "Spy for Dumbledore."

As he noticed that questions were the last thing Draco was thinking about as he gaped at Snape, the Potions professor capitulated to urgent pragmatism.

"Draco, I want you to run to the drawing room and tell your father it's okay to kill the snake. Don't be so stupid as to faint at the sight that greets you there. After that, I want the three of you-" Snape was interrupted by a moan. He and Draco looked down a rousing Harry, and Snape bore in silence into those familiar green, oval-shaped eyes, his own jugular throbbing. "I revise: I want the four of you to flee the manor." His voice might have been cold as ever but there was an unmistakable sliver of relief in his face.

Dazed green eyes emerged and peeked at the two, blurry blobs above. Snape blankly looked down at Harry. He raised his wand.

Harry was rushed into the land of the living as a hose of cold water hit his face. Gasping, he was hauled onto his feet by a firm hand. He saw Snape in front of him, clad in Death Eater robes and holding a white mask in his hand. Snape waved his wand again and Harry's face was dry once more. Harry's body felt funny, groggy, and as though he had been born a few seconds ago and grew extremely fast but still never used his body. And Snape's wand-waving was not helping his disorientation. He turned to the figure on his left: Draco. He knew it was him because no one else he knew was this pale and this beautiful even as a smudgy blob. Before he knew it he had lunged at the pale blob and hugged it tightly.

Snape's eyebrow rose behind his curtain of greasy hair.

Harry held tightly onto Draco, feeling relief washing down his body. He was so glad to smell Draco's scent, so glad to feel his body, so glad to feel his heat, so glad to have him away from Voldemort. But in this wonderful moment he heard an intrusive and terse cluck of a tongue behind him.

"Yes, Potter, I'm sure Draco is now fully aware of your gladness at seeing him again," Snape drawled, trying his best to ignore the bulge in Harry's pants. "May we please proceed?"

Harry pulled back from the pale Slytherin but did not step back and remained at an intimidate distance from him. "Draco…"

Said person appeared utterly flabbergasted at all of this attention. "Potter," he said, so as not to be rude in his silence. He stood there blinking in a nonplussed way at Harry, not understand why he was acting so strangely and sounding as though he were addressing his long-lost lover. In fact, Draco did not seem to have recovered from Harry standing up again just after taking Voldemort's Killing Curse in the chest.

Draco stooped down to pick up Harry's glasses from the floor in a plain attempt to do something other than look at Harry and be stared at with boundless fondness in return. He blinked a few more times as he nervously slipped the round spectacles onto his face after Harry's hand failed to grasp at them when he tried to give them to the Gryffindor.

There passed the slightest moment of silence and inaction before Snape boomed, "For Merlin's sake!" It seemed Harry's continued staring after he received his glasses had exhausted Snape of his patience. Or perhaps he was desperate for a distraction to break the awkward pause, something of which Harry appeared entirely unaware.

The nearing cacophony of cries and destruction told them the rampaging Death Eaters were close by. Snape could not be seen with a lifeless Dark Lord at his feet – his fellow Death Eaters would undoubtedly presume he committed treachery and would strike him down without a second to spare.

Harry did not know what had just happened to him. The last thing he could remember was his world blazing green, a rushing, swooshing noise like a speeding train ringing in his ear. He felt normal now but slightly different – something was off. But he cared less about himself; as long as Draco was safe he was happy. Snape had then flung them apart and started to drag them, but he had stopped short suddenly.

After yelling in ostensible frustration, Snape grabbed both boys by the scruff of their necks, spun around, and made to set off down the corridor. But he suddenly froze.

Harry looked up at Snape, whose temple was pulsing horribly and whose eyes Harry noticed had widened at something ahead of them on the floor. He frowned and squinted at that spot, unable to make out anything, but a moment later he saw a flat, square piece of wood sliding forward, being dragged by a thick creature Harry had mistaken for a dark split liquid. But it was actually a giant snake cutting a clean trail on the debris-strewn floor as it slithered nearer to them.

With the corner of his Harry watched Snape's legs threaten to give way for a moment, shaking, for the man could not believe what he was seeing. Draco blanched and immediately took refuge behind Harry, who now suddenly spotted the body on the floor. Voldemort lying on the floor was a sight which he could not fathom. Was it not supposed to be him lying there? It was he who had taken the Killing Curse…

He raised his eyes at the snake, which he had last seen in the Little Hangleton graveyard when Voldemort was reborn. Yet the sheer size of it was even more awesome: it had grown tremendously since then. Harry could not even follow its length to its tail, which was hidden between the dust hanging in the corridor and the debris on the floor.

Harry stepped around Snape and slowly approached the giant snake. Snape grabbed his shoulder but he wrestled out of his grip and told the man he knew what he was doing. Snape must have been believed him – probably recalling his Parseltongue from second year – because he let him free. Harry frowned at the snake, its head reared off the floor, tongue flicking. It was hissing at Snape but... it was doing just that – hissing. Harry could not understand it but heard exactly what Snape and Draco was hearing. He opened his mouth and tried to speak to the snake but the sounds he wanted to make hung at the tip of his tongue. They would feel foreign if he let them through his lips. They did not make sense. They were simply noises without meaning… He could not speak Parseltongue any longer. But why not?

Suddenly the snake recoiled and lurched forward. Harry could only catch a thick train of flesh whip past his eyes as the snake's massive body took flight and attacked Snape, who fell to the floor with blood gushing through his fingers from his neck. Snape jerked furiously on the floor, trying to shake the snake off him. Draco streaked to Harry, and the snake turned his eyes on them both, hissing furiously.

Heart thundering furiously in his chest, Harry inched away the snake, shielding Draco with his body as he did so, as they watched Snape bleed on the floor, his limbs shaking and stuttering, the crimson pool swelling fast around him. Then they heard Draco's name being shouted from somewhere within the manor. Looking up, Harry made out Lucius Malfoy standing at the other end of the hallway carrying his wife in his arms. Malfoy made his way towards them through the rubble strewn on the corridor floor.

Snape turned bloodshot eyes at Harry while the great snake slithered towards Voldemort's body. Snape's hand grabbed at the air in front of Harry, who cast a wary eye at the great snake before he crouched down to him. Harry took Snape's arm and tried to pull him away from Nagini, but Snape's hand suddenly caught his shirt in a vice-like grip, and Harry's alarmed eyes saw Snape's own blood-shot eyes, nose and mouth starting to pour out white wisps of mist. The gossamer tendrils floated up to him, invading his nostrils and flooding his eyes.

Lucius Malfoy's eyes widened slightly in disbelief at what seemed to be the lifeless body of his master before they swept across to the giant snake. Sitting in the drawing room he had watched as it looped coil after coil onto his wife and started to swallow her from the feet up. It had been a slow, harrowing process to witness. But when the mouth of the snake reached her lower thighs the snake had made a strange, strangled noise before it pulled itself rapidly off his wife's frame, uncoiling incompletely before it slithered down to the floor and disappeared into the manor. It had gone with such haste Lucius had to run to his wife before she fell on the floor as the rest of the snake's body dragged her slightly after disentangling itself. Narcissa had lost consciousness most likely when she had stopped moaning his name.

Lucius stepped over Voldemort's body and then looked down at it again, as though not believing he just done this. He turned back and watched something strange happen between Snape and Harry: Snape, bleeding to death, was holding fiercely onto Harry, who kneeled in front of him as motionlessly as a gargoyle, tendrils of mist connecting their faces. Lucius turned towards his son and took in his naked but unwounded person.

"Draco."

There was unmistakable relief in his voice, and it seemed Draco did not know how to react to this rare display of emotion from his father.

"Father," was all the youngest Malfoy could say.

Lucius visibly struggled to curb his tongue against uttering more sentimentalities. He glanced down at the sleeping face of his wife in his arms. "She's still alive," he told Draco, on whom he turned a sober eye. "We need to get out of here. Now, Draco." He made to go down the corridor but was stopped by Draco's voice.

"What about Potter, Father?"

Lucius shot an irritated glare at Harry, and his lips curled upon itself at the sight of him bending over Snape.

"If we must."

Lucius then heard the other Death Eaters coming their way. "We need to go, Draco!" he growled. "I couldn't care less for Potter. As you can clearly hear the Death Eaters are delighting hugely in destroying our home, and we will surely suffer the same fate when they reach us. We're going to the Apparition chamber in the foyer now. Follow me." Lucius thundered down the hallway as quickly as he could with his wife's weight in his arms.

Draco whirled around and went over to pull Harry off Snape, at whom he tried not to look. Harry staggered a bit, and his face looked vacant and dazed. Draco took his arm and led them down the corridor behind his father and mother. But dark-cloaked figures suddenly sprung into the hallway, filling each end. Lucius' swift strides stopped abruptly. The Death Eaters prowled into the hallway from each end.

More Death Eater spilled into the hallway, bubbling forth like a sea of oil. Lucius backed away slowly. He looked behind at the other end of the entrance to find more Death Eaters closing in from there as well.

Harry was confounded beyond anything. His mind was muddled and shaken after he experienced a stream of millions of images flit past his mind's eye. He did not have the time to look at them and unpack them, for the Death Eaters were stalking nearer. He glanced down at the sight of the giant snake and Voldemort's body. In at that moment he suddenly heard a crazy shriek amongst the incredulous mutterings of the Death Eaters at the sight of their leader on the floor. Bellatrix Lestrange exploded out of the dark mass, her face contorted in disgusting shock, and howled in agony at the body of her master on the floor. Harry took out his wand.

"Expelliarmus!"

His wand jerked out of his hands, flew in a graceful arc in the air and landed in the hands of a Death Eater with a patched eye.

"My Lord!" Bellatrix cried, as she threw herself back on her feet and leapt towards Voldemort.

Harry, extremely dismayed at the loss of his wand, backed up from the demented woman but did not take his eyes off the Death Eater with his wand.

Harry heard the sound of breaking wood before he even heard it, and saw it before he even saw it: his wand was snapped cleanly into half. The painful sound pierced his chest. It was a sound that brought physical damage, snapping his soul in half as well. He could not believe it – it did not just happen. His wand… Four years he had it. It was part of him. The two pieces of wood clinked against the floor after they were dropped carelessly. Harry only realized his left hand was clasped with Draco's when he felt the other boy squeeze him. He turned devastated emerald eyes to him and saw his pale face frowning in disgust down at Bellatrix sobbing over Voldemort's lifeless body.

…Or it was supposed to be lifeless.

"My Lord! Let me help you up!"

"I don't need any assistance!" Harry heard behind him. He heard Draco's gasp as his grey eyes bulged in terrified incredulity. Horror softly trickled into every bone in Harry's body, from his nape down to his toes as he slowly turned his head to look, and his grief over his broken wand was washed away in the light of once-again-rising evil.

Voldemort was rising from the floor.

This seemed to overwhelm Draco, who had witnessed Voldemort collapsing immediately after he shot the Killing Curse at Harry and later had it cast on him by Snape. Breathless, the silver-eyed boy watched Voldemort take his wand from the floor and rear to his impressive height, the folds of his dark robe falling into place. Voldemort's lipless mouth curved in a twisted smile at Harry, who pushed Draco behind and shielded him. Silence descended upon the filled corridor so absolute it bore a physical weight.

"It seems I've miscalculated," Voldemort said a little breathlessly – a first for Harry to witness. Voldemort's red slits fixed upon Snape's dead body. "We had more traitors amongst our ranks than we had known. Severus dared to cast the Killing Curse on me." His flat face swept between his Death Eaters at each end of the hallway, and a grin spread across it. "But I lived."

So it was true: Voldemort was truly immortal. Harry saw those hated red eyes turn to him. Voldemort had risen again, and his wand was broken: this had to be the day the legend of the Boy Who Lived died…

"And you, Harry, are an interesting anomaly. I fell just as you did when I killed you. Can it be that your scar is more than what it appears to be?"

Harry was slowly backing up with Draco from Voldemort's slow prowl towards them.

"I say again," Voldemort gasped, "how is a boy, who possesses no special powers, able to do such feats? This is the second time I fail to kill you." Voldemort then looked at his scar.

Disgusted at hearing his name through Voldemort's absent lips, Harry felt the strangest sensation: it was as though cool tendrils were careening through his mind, stirring his memories in their path and leaving them to flutter back down into place again in their wake. He realized, from what Dumbledore had taught him in his first Occlumency lesson, that Voldemort was performing Legilimency on him. He subsequently tried to block the intrusive force out of his mind by raising his amateur shields, but he found he could not lift any of them fast enough. But then he felt the tendrils leave him at once.

"You could see what I could see. I was able to possess you. You could speak Parseltongue your entire life." Voldemort continue his slow progress towards Harry, calculation and realization glinting in his red eyes. "I had overseen this, miscalculated. All this time you had harboured a piece of me inside you. But now you cannot speak Parseltongue as you have shortly realized, and you rose again from my curse... You were the seventh, my seventh! I planted it in your head the same night I tried to kill you! You stole my powers then, and you lost them now for you've lost that part of me when I tried to kill you again tonight. And now… surely you stand completely naked in front of my wand..." Voldemort's slit nostrils flared, and his eyes flashed scarlet. "Shall we find out if the famous Boy Who Lived will survive my wand thrice?"

Without warning Voldemort slashed his wand through the air.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A green streak blasted out of Voldemort's wand and coursed straight for Harry, and a whooshing sound whispered his surely coming death. But then a scarlet flash intercepted the spell, and Harry saw Fawkes' cursed form explode into a shower of golden light before he heard a popping sound near him and pandemonium ensued.

Figures appeared into the hallway and began to duel the Death Eaters at once: Moody, Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and a squat, plump wizard, who, after catching sight of Voldemort, gave a shrill squall and Disapparated away as instantly as he had appeared, eliciting grunts of fury from Moody and Sirius. But the gang formed a protective line in front of both Harry and Draco and Lucius and his wife. Harry had been prepared to take Draco aside and take out his Invisibility Cloak to cover them both before he caught sight of the man whom he had sorely missed ever since he found him, a man who had eluded him ever since.

"Sirius!" he cried through the commotion of flying debris and flashing spell-light. Sirius was too busy duelling and too far away to hear him. Harry, with difficulty, pushed down his urge to be with Sirius and felt around for his Invisibility Cloak under his robes.

Voldemort had been distracted by the chaos for only a second. He turned back to Harry and Draco as the former frantically pulled out his Invisibility Cloak. Voldemort waved his wand at the snake, encasing her in a protective shield that hovered in mid-air.

Draco tugged on Harry's arm. "Potter!"

Harry looked up to see Voldemort and Bellatrix raising their wands at them, behind them the great snake's length swirling inside a protective sphere which rose high towards the ceiling. Then suddenly the door of the room from which they had emerged minutes before flew off its hinges and, in a mid-air path to them, broke into two pieces that landed in front of their middles, flashing scarlet: they now shielded them from Voldemort and Bellatrix, while Lucius and his wife were in turn protected from behind them.

Voldemort and Bellatrix stared dumbly at the two pieces of the door for a second before raising their wands again in what appeared to be experimental gesture, as though they wanted to test these apparently protective doors halves before they could have a good laugh about it. A Killing Curse issued from Voldemort's wand aimed straight at Harry's face. Bellatrix fired a Cruciatus Curse at Draco's bare feet. The two parts of the door did not cover their entire heights and left bare their lower legs and upper body. They flinched. However, the floating halves of the door suddenly slid up and down like adjacent elevators, and the two spells were absorbed on their surfaces.

Voldemort blinked at the door halves. "This is ridiculous!" he shrieked, and his slit nostrils flared indignantly. Voldemort was infuriated by this. How can the Dark Lord be stopped by two parts of a door? He fired another spell, this time at Harry's trainers while Bellatrix fired another Cruciatus at Draco, which now sailed for his head. Again, one door slid up and the other down.

Voldemort looked speechless. Bellatrix's heavy-lidded eyes darted between the two halves of the door, looking soundly confounded herself. Then Voldemort exploded, firing spell after spell at Harry, Bellatrix following suit beside him, raining spells on Draco. But the doors held to their function and slid this way and that, absorbing spell after spell: Killing Curses, Cruciatus Curses, Blasting Hexes, Charring Curses, Flaying Curses – they were all nullified.

Harry and Draco shared astounded expressions and appeared to be on the verge of laughter at the ridiculous idea of a defensive door and Voldemort and Bellatrix's inability to harm them. Only one person was capable of this fabulous strategy…

Voldemort released a furious shriek without warning. Its force swept the duellists in the hallway off their feet and shattered the two door parts protecting Harry and Draco into five or six pieces that fell to the floor as though it were made of glass. Now bare and unprotected, Voldemort raised his wand again to try to kill at least one person tonight.

Then, in a whirlwind of golden dust and a haunting phoenix song that filled the hallway, Dumbledore appeared in front of them, midnight-blue robes swirling ferociously. Bellatrix, chest rising and falling rapidly, scrambled to her feet after catching sight of Dumbledore and took her leave, the other Death Eaters skittering right behind her, clearing the hallway. The members of the Order of the Phoenix, Lucius and Narcissa (who had awoken after landing on the floor when Lucius was thrown off his feet by Voldemort's powerful bellow) slowly got on their feet.

Dumbledore and Voldemort began duelling. Nagini, swirling in her protective shield, shot down the hallway and disappeared behind a corner. Immediately after it whipped out of sight another door down the hallway broke off its hinges and snapped in half. Its two parts zoomed above the heads of the Order and parked in front of Harry and Draco once more and began shunting them backwards insistently towards the adults.

A line of melting white light raged between Dumbledore's and Voldemort's wand. Voldemort flicked his wand numerous times towards Harry Draco, sending shards of cement from the walls and ceramic from the floor exploding and showering over them and the Order. But Dumbledore's doors continued to protect them. The Order huddled amongst each other, and Lucius covered himself and his wife with his robe.

"Sirius!" Harry flung himself into Sirius widespread arms, and they hugged.

"It's good to see you, Harry!" Sirius shouted over the noise of the intense duel.

But they could barely hear each other talk as the fight between Dumbledore and Voldemort grew more epic and furious. Voldemort broke the connection of their spells and siphoned its power into his mouth, which released a sucking, whistling shriek that manifested into a ball of fire furling larger and larger towards the high ceiling, and somewhere in the tower of fire reared the large head of a serpent. It recoiled and descended upon Dumbledore, who swung his wand at it and the enormous fire serpent exploded out of shape, its bellowing flames bulging out towards their maker, who waved his wand and the flames were no more. A thousand gallons of water spilled out Dumbledore's wand and encased Voldemort in a churning ball, across the surface of which five white gashes appeared as a pale, rippling hand clawed past.

Then came Voldemort's muffled scream, and the sphere of water exploded in all directions, releasing him. Rising from the floor, wet and furious, slit eyes blazing scarlet, Voldemort cast a spell at Dumbledore and all the debris in the hallway shot towards him. A liquid, transparent shield poured out of Dumbledore's wand at which the shards of ceramic, glass, wood and cement hurtled but on the other side of which were reduced to dust, giving Dumbledore no more than a light spray on his face like a kind sandstorm.

Growing frustrated, Voldemort held his wand to his chest where he concentrated the magic of the spell and his own inherent magic. He released it, together with this fury, and the entire hallway erupted: devastation swept every surface as doors and portraits and pedestals and tiles were obliterated, and their pieces fell to the floor. Everyone went for cover. In the sharp quiet that descended after smithereens hit the floor, Voldemort gave a baleful glare at all of them, and a most heated one at Lucius, Harry and Draco, before he swept down the hallway and fled to the Apparition chamber in the foyer.

Harry watched Dumbledore stand in the middle of the hallway after Voldemort fled and did not attempt to stop him. He saw his old mentor fall weakly to his knees and heard the others calling Dumbledore's name, worry rife in their voices. Sirius, Mad-Eye, Tonks and Kingsley jumped to their feet and ran over to Dumbledore. Harry turned to Draco and wrapped his Invisibility Cloak around his pale form, giving a brief look into his grey eyes for only a moment before joining the Order around Dumbledore, whom he watched being hauled up and rested against the wall.

"Dumbledore, what's wrong?" Sirius asked. Concern creased his brow as his dark, waist-length hair fell over Dumbledore.

Dumbledore gave them all a warm smile, and before he even spoke the Order already looked irritated. "Just getting a little late on my duelling moves," Dumbledore chuckled. Harry felt his eyes smart with tears. Dumbledore, his beard thrown across his chest onto the floor and picking up the dust there, turned to him. "Harry." His voice was so faded…

"Yes, Professor?" Harry's voice broke a little and his eyes shone even more.

"It was a brave feat you did tonight, rescuing Mr Malfoy there. I deeply regret having angered you, Harry, but you have to understand where I was coming from."

Harry shook his head wildly. "I understand, sir. You didn't want anybody to be in danger. I understand that. I'm sorry."

Dumbledore gave him a smile and blinked slowly. "It's all right, Harry. I should never have underestimated the heart of a Gryffindor." He gave another but more shallow chuckle.

Harry smiled with his mentor.

Dumbledore's smile fell, and he blinked slowly again. His eyes wandered to the pile of rubble burying a black robe. "Oh, Severus, my dear boy…"

Harry and the Order swivelled their heads to the black robes peeking out of a pile of debris. Each face confessed varying degrees of regret for the sight, some less than others.

Harry turned back to Dumbledore. "Snape, he—he loved my mother. He was looking out for me secretly this whole time..."

Dumbledore could barely raise his silver eyebrow. "Indeed, Harry. He did care for you. He swore on Lily's memory to protect you."

Harry struggled to swallow a lump in his throat. He had caused all of this mess. "I shouldn't have come here tonight."

Dumbledore hushed him and waved his healthy hand at him dismissively. "Forget about that, Harry, it's no use dwelling on the past." He cleared his throat and adjusted himself slightly on the wall as though trying to find a comfortable position. His eyes had become slightly sharper. "So you've seen Voldemort tonight for the second time after he was resurrected."

"Dumbledore, we have to get you to school," Tonks said urgently, her voice fraught with worry. Mad-Eye grunted in agreement.

"Ah, yes of course," Dumbledore said, as though he had just discovered something interesting. He made to stand, and the four adults assisted him to his feet and carried him off.

Harry did not want to see Dumbledore like this! He did not want to see him weak – he wanted to see him healthy and omnipotent and twinkling his blue eyes and being Dumbledore! He could do nothing but just watch Dumbledore's entourage assisting him down the corridor. He turned around and spied the butt of a wand peeking out of an upturned tile. He strode over to it and flipped the tile over. His wand lay in two pieces on the floor, and they were connected tenuously by Fawkes' phoenix feather.

Harry sighed and carefully took the two pieces of his wand delicately, folding them in his hand. He straightened up and joined Sirius' side as they all trudged to the Apparition chamber, followed by Draco and his parents.


	13. The Era Begins at the End

**Chapter 13**

**The Era Begins at the End**

He had been up since midnight, apparently possessed by Voldemort, had run for his life through Malfoy Manor, was suffering from smoke inhalation, and had survived the Killing Curse for the second time in his life. To say he was exhausted was a disastrous understatement.

But Harry had not wanted to go to the infirmary as ordered by the adults – he wanted to stay here and find some answers. He would not wait any longer for them. There were a number of things he did not know, a number of things that happened back in Malfoy Manor that were inexplicable. The thing most so was Voldemort's words, and Harry believed Dumbledore had a few answers.

He found he could not hold onto his anger and resentment towards Dumbledore. The man was slowly fading from them, slowly slipping away every day. First, Harry had seen Dumbledore in the corridor outside his office the night he had the dream of Voldemort planning to take over Hogwarts. Dumbledore was barely able to stand and had gained an injury on his left hand. And tonight, Dumbledore had nearly collapsed again, probably strained by his duel with Voldemort. Harry should probably start to believe it now – Dumbledore was going to be no more soon enough.

Harry, the Order, Draco and his parents, and Hermione (they found her standing in front of Dumbledore's gargoyle when they had arrived, apparently waiting for them) were standing in Dumbledore's office, each of them, except for Hermione, covered in dust and pieces of Malfoy Manor.

On the left side of the office Tonks was entertaining Kingsley by changing her facial features. Kingsley looked to be warring with himself between allowing himself to enjoy the show and glaring disdainfully at her immaturity. A solitary Moody leaned against the wall in one corner with his natural scowl, occasionally adjusting his wooden leg. Draco's head and neck hovered next to his parents on the scarlet couch next to the door, the rest of his body hidden under Harry's Invisibility Cloak. And Dumbledore sat in his chair as he did every day, as though nothing was new. He looked tired, more wrinkled, and had a greyish tinge to his skin. He, too, had politely refused to go to the infirmary, insisting that he was quite fine. His wistful eyes were now downcast on his desk.

There was only silence in the room. The only thing Harry knew was that they were waiting for other people to join them, whoever they were. He had not talked to Sirius at all after they all arrived in Dumbledore's office – the mood just did not call for any interaction from anyone, it seemed, except Tonks and Kinsley.

The air was desolate and broken amongst them all. There was so much to discuss and resolve, and each one felt that weight on their minds. The portraits were surveying the office with frustration, for they undoubtedly wished for someone to speak up – something had clearly happened. Some, like Phineas Nigellus Black, were looking at Harry with something like reverence after that interesting episode when he was possessions only hours prior.

Dumbledore's fireplace burst to life, and out stepped Mr and Mrs Weasley.

"Oh! Harry dear!" Mrs Weasley went straight for Harry and crushed his lungs in a huge, motherly hug.

"Really," spat Phineas Nigellus Black disapprovingly, looking down the length of his nose at the pair.

As suddenly as she had thrown herself at Harry Mrs Weasley pulled off and gave him a severe look. "Harry, how can you just..." And so began an embarrassing dressing down about 'foolhardy and stupidly selfless acts of bravery' in full view of everyone. Meanwhile, Dumbledore stood up to greet Mr Weasley, though Harry was certain it was meant to interrupt the glare Mr Weasley was beaming in Lucius Malfoy's direction. Lucius, however, was not even deigning to dignify it, for his face remained quite impassive, if slightly haughty.

"No, no, sit down, Dumbledore. Merlin's beard, what happened?" Mr Weasley asked after breaking eye contact with Lucius long enough to regard Dumbledore. Clearly he was referring to Dumbledore looking pale and haggard, but Dumbledore shook his head and gave him a weak smile as he resumed his seat

"Nothing to worry about, Arthur. Now, I believe we're just waiting for-"

"Dumbledore! I swear I did all I could! But 'em bloody Death Eaters were there before me! I'm sorry, Dumbledore, they now on You-Know-Who's side! Nearly killed me, 'em bloody boulders did!"

Dumbledore looked up at Hagrid, who had barged into the office and was now patting his swollen face with a huge chunk of dragon meat.

"It's all right, Hagrid," Dumbledore said. "I believe you did everything you possibly could."

"I can go back, yeh know. I can co'vince 'em back-" Hagrid made to turn around and lumber out of the office, supposedly to regain the giants' trust back in the mountains miles away.

"Yes, please do," muttered Black, giving Hagrid a disgusted once-over.

"Hagrid, I said it's quite all right," Dumbledore said, stopping the giant in his wake. "There's nothing we can do now. Please stay."

Hagrid, looking saddened at having disappointed Dumbledore, hung his head in the middle of the office as his face dripped green blood. He lumbered over to a corner, giving Harry a friendly wave before he recoiled and frowned at the figures of Lucius, Narcissa and a partially invisible and naked Draco sitting on the couch.

Despite his distress Lucius was still able to curl his lip back at the sight of the giant. Narcissa, swallowed by a giant snake though she nearly was, managed to look scandalized at Hagrid's crude and obtrusive presence in an office as though he was one of them.

Then the door opened and in walked Ron and Lupin. The redhead went over to Hermione after frowning deeply at the Malfoys and at Draco wearing Harry's Invisibility Cloak. When he stood in front of Harry he gave him a puzzled look which asked, 'Why is Malfoy starkers and wearing your Invisibility Cloak?' Harry merely shook his head to tell him that now was not the time.

"Remus, I trust you're recovering well?" Dumbledore said warmly. He had sent Ron to fetch the man from the infirmary where Lupin had immediately checked into upon returning from his mission.

Lupin gave a grateful but exhausted smile. There was a bulge around his lower leg suggesting a bandage beneath his trousers. "Quite fine, Dumbledore... I'm sorry. Fenrir caught me out. He ran after me after suspecting I was trying too hard to sway the other werewolves from siding with Voldemort."

Half of the room flinched at the name. The room was growing more hopeless, Harry observed. He watched Kingsley's and Tonks' shoulders sag. Moody grunted and looked away in disdain, Mr and Mrs Weasley shook their heads woefully, and he felt Sirius sigh despairingly next to him and drop his head.

Harry understood what was happening because he had heard that obtrusive Fenrir man he hated (because he lusted after Draco) promise Voldemort that the werewolves would fight for him for the big event. It was the mention of this 'big event' that allowed him to figure out what they were talking about, which was the seizure of Hogwarts. Then Rookwood, whom he had followed together with Fenrir the manor, had told Voldemort that the giants were on their side and that they had fended off Hagrid. That was why Hagrid was now nursing his wounded face with cold meat. So Voldemort was going to use an army of werewolves and giants, not to mention his army of Death Eaters, to take over Hogwarts and either claim it as his own or crush it to the ground.

Dumbledore nodded ruefully at Lupin. "Well, you're still with us, that is one thing we can still celebrate."

Lupin returned a bleak smile to the headmaster before limping over to Ron, Hermione, Harry and Sirius.

Harry understood their dire situation, but he was too tired to react with the appropriate amount of indignation and fear. His body was simply weary and he felt worn out and sleepy. The day had been a disaster from the beginning. He regretted having not Occluded and having gone to the manor... Harry turned his head to Draco. No, he did not regret going to the manor, because Draco was now safe – he did not have to hurt anymore. He looked up and Lupin gave him a warm smile as he approached but they did not speak.

Dumbledore cleared his throat to get the full attention of the room. This was necessary as the room had been sombrely quiet. "Good evening, everyone. Well, as you have heard, we have failed to secure the allegiance of the giants-" Hagrid buried his face into chest, his wild, shaggy hair falling over his head and hiding it from view. "-and we have failed to discourage the werewolves from siding with Voldemort. I will say it bluntly: this is not good."

A tremor travelled across the room. Harry noticed Mrs Weasley tightening her hold on Ron.

"Our defences are at best meagre," Dumbledore went on, "and Voldemort's army is growing in size exponentially. At the moment I confess myself worried." More than the facts just laid before them, it was these last revealing words that terrified the people in the room more. Dumbledore's eyes swept over each of them solemnly. "I do not have a remedy to this situation as we speak. I believe Voldemort is waiting for me to expire before he strikes – that way he has the best chance to succeed in his plan."

A rumble of mutters swept over the office as all contemplated this terrible plan and Dumbledore's shortened time. Harry could distinctly hear from Professor Moody, "... We'll be Voldy fodder next, that's what..."

Harry then saw a white blur streak across the room: Lucius was bending over Dumbledore's desk and hissing furiously in Dumbledore's face, his bent arms balancing against the desk quivering in anger.

"What is this?" Lucius raged. "You cannot just conveniently keel over and leave us to deal with the Dark Lord by ourselves, old man! You promised my family sanctuary! Judging by the garish carpentry, I didn't think Gryffindors went back on their word!"

Dumbledore held up a healthy hand at the aristocrat. The buzzing chatter died down but Lucius maintained his steely glare at the headmaster, blond hair in wild disarray on his shoulders, which still managed to look elegant, however.

"Mr Malfoy, I realize that I have promised your family protection," Dumbledore said kindly. "Rest assured I've made adequate arrangements to accommodate that. You have nothing to worry about."

Lucius drew himself to his fullest height and exhaled regally. He wordlessly turned around and resumed his seat beside his family.

Dumbledore's eyes fell upon Draco's small frame covered in Harry's Invisibility Cloak, and he sighed glumly. "Did anyone perhaps have any queries?" he asked in the midst of the mutters. He touched the tips of his fingertips together and surveyed the across over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

Mrs Weasley was quick to oblige. "Is it totally necessary to have the kids here, Dumbledore?"

Ron and Hermione scowled at her. Harry did not bother to react, feeling perfectly entitled to be in the meeting.

Dumbledore turned to his two friends. "Mr Weasley, Miss Granger, do you wish to go outside?"

A definitive "No!" answered him, and he chuckled heartily, his twinkling blue eyes lending him a slightly less worn look.

Mrs Weasley, however, narrowed her eyes dangerously at Ron, who squinted down at his shoes and mumbled mutinously.

"To answer your issue, Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore said, "I have arranged for Young Draco here-"

"Don't."

Silence plunged with a loud splash into the room as every eye was drawn to the long couch beside the doors where the Malfoys sat. Draco's head was hovering above his seat as the Slytherin kept his gaze at the floor. Ron, his face caught between a scowl and an expression of amazement, looked stunned that Draco had the audacity to interrupt Dumbledore while he was speaking. Hermione's eyes sharpened observantly, and Harry, using the excuse of the moment to look at Draco, was deeply absorbing every single nuance of emotion from Draco's face. The portraits above them had their painted eyebrows to their hairline, but Phineas Nigellus Black looked less impressed.

"I beg your pardon, Mr Malfoy?" Dumbledore said softly.

"Don't call me... Young Draco... I don't like it."

And Harry instantly understood and felt immense sympathy flow out his heart to him. Voldemort had called him 'Young Draco' while they were in that room with the ornate door on the left.

Ron's eyes bulged and he looked close to pouncing on Draco. His expression was mirrored by Black, who look scandalized at the display of disrespect. Hermione raised her eyebrow rose, and Mr and Mrs Weasley wore those looks adults had whenever their children acted out rudely or uncontrollably in public. Having raised seven it was extremely likely they knew a few things about that.

Harry noticed that Draco's mother had not gestured to comfort her son: she did not change her stoic position – hands cradled on her lap, ankles crossed, back straight, head tilted a little to the side, and vacant-looking eyes staring at the red carpet a few feet in front of her. And there was again that very slight upward curl to her lips as though she was slightly amused by something.

"Oh I do apologize, Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore fluttered, cutting across the tense silence. He looked quite taken aback.

Harry could spy a light tinge of pink on Draco's cheeks as he cast his face down further.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "As I was saying, until such a time we are sure of the circumstances, I have arranged for Mr Malfoy to stay at Grimmauld Place with Sirius."

Harry's jaw dropped. His stomach did not just plunge and surge and then flutter like that, did it?

"This impertinent little tyke is to stay in my forefathers' house?" screeched Phineas Nigellus Black, looking horridly indignant. Sirius' lips twitched. "I will absolutely not have him! Young man, if I had could have my way with you-"

"Draco's staying with Sirius?" Harry blurted out over Black's rant, incredulous for a couple of reasons – one being that he had never even seen this number twelve, Grimmauld Place before himself, and another being the way Black had started his sentence.

"Yes," Dumbledore answered. "Draco will stay with Sirius at Grimmauld Place until we can secure Malfoy Manor. I believe, Mr Malfoy, that you and your wife have made arrangements for alternative accommodation?"

"Indeed," came the inanimate drawl, but Lucius had his eyes narrowed on Phineas Nigellus Black, who was flustering horribly under the searing gaze.

"The ferret's gonna be living with Sirius?" Ron was injured into silence by a well-placed and well-timed jab from Hermione's elbow.

"Ronald! Bilius! Weasley!" Mrs Weasley shrieked in disbelief. But Mr Weasley did not appear too embarrassed by his son.

Ron scuffed the toe of his pixie slippers with the floor, turning a deep shade of red in the face and grumbling about mothers and their obsessions with full names.

"Your ears don't deceive you, Mr Weasley," Dumbledore chortled. He moved his eyes over to Harry.

Harry held them.

The two eyes of brightest blue twinkled at him.

Harry blinked with surprise. He did not know why he was blushing.

Dumbledore gave a small laugh before looking away, leaving a flabbergasted and embarrassed Harry behind. Before he could open his mouth, Lucius spoke.

"I have something to say."

Everyone turned to the blond aristocrat and his wife and son. The Malfoys looked perfectly out of place amongst the Order in Dumbledore's office. Even after having gone through what each of them had the clan still exuded an inherent elegance in every line of their bodies. Each back was straighter than the rest of them, their faces betrayed far less emotion – they looked like beautiful porcelain masks – the way they sat made Dumbledore's couch look very expensive. Their movements were so artistic and mastered it seemed as though they overthought every motion, but they did not. The Malfoys appeared simply otherworldly.

"Yes, Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore said.

"To the best of my knowledge I'm aware that the Dark Lord has been preparing to attack Hogsmeade before attempting to seize Hogwarts."

There was a resounding silence. No one moved but all the ears turned in Malfoy's direction sharpened. For the first time Harry noticed that Moody's scowl no longer tore his face as the ex-Auror stared at Malfoy in astonishment, his electric-blue eye fixed on the blond.

Lupin, however, seemed the least shocked. "He's planning to let his werewolf army loose on the town so he can infect more people and grow it," he said gravely, with a nod of acknowledgement at Lucius. "He wants as many werewolves as he can have before attacking Hogwarts."

The air vibrated with shock. Moody had undoubtedly seen everything in his previous life as an Auror, but he did seem to believe his ears.

"Bloody hell," Ron said breathlessly.

"I absolutely agree, Mr Weasley," Dumbledore muttered, looking worried and thoughtful.

"Great Scott," said the corpulent, red-nosed wizard above Dumbledore's seat.

Harry felt tempted to laugh at all of this. It was ridiculous! Laughably ridiculous! It was just crazy. Unbelievable. He was probably getting mentally unstable at the moment and probably should not voice his thoughts. The physical and mental exhaustion was bearing down on him – he was beyond reeling. The gravity of the situation would probably hit him when he woke up.

Dumbledore was being inclusive towards the minors, who probably were not supposed to be in this office in the first place, Harry observed. What did it mean? Would the kids fight beside their parents?

"You know, Dumbledore, you should really look into introducing more quieter and far less curious portraits into your office," Lucius drawled, his cold, grey glare sweeping the portraits around the office, all of which quickly drew back into themselves, cleared their throats, and started adjusting their attire with varying degrees of dignity – the least of which being that of the wizard beside Black in the childishly colourful pyjamas – as they feigned innocence.

"That isn't a bad idea at all," agreed Dumbledore, as his blue eyes surveyed the portraits as well, lingering on Phineas Nigellus Black. "But what can I say? They have endeared themselves to me for too long a spell to just do away with them." Then Dumbledore cleared his throat. He looked short of words of motivation and encouragement. Would they even be effective to them anyway? "Well, we will have to make certain to do all the available preparations," he said vaguely. "Moving along. Harry," he said, turning to the Gryffindor. "I called all these people here tonight for more than one reason. They comprise a group that has been fighting against Lord Voldemort's forces even before you were born. We go by the name of the Order of the Phoenix. Your parents were in the Order as well."

Harry looked surprised before looking around at the people in the room. "The Order of the Phoenix?" Harry said slowly. "My parents fought against Voldemort?"

"Yes, Harry," Sirius said softly beside him, "I'll tell you all about some other time." The arm around his shoulder gave him a soft, assuring squeeze.

"Salazar's soul, is that you, Sirius Black?" called Phineas Nigellus Black, leaning to the fore of his portrait and squinting down at Sirius' head. Sirius looked down at the carpet, hiding his face with this long, black hair.

"Thank you, Phineas," said Dumbledore, and he gave a warm smile at Harry's flummoxed face. "I believe that covers about everything?" he asked everyone.

Minutes later the meeting was adjourned. The Malfoys were first to exit the door. Harry was tempted to go after Draco. He could use the excuse of being concerned about his dad's Invisibility Cloak, but he stayed back with Sirius. His godfather instructed him to head for the infirmary but Harry told him he would rather go to bed and that he was not hurting badly. It was true: his lungs were just slightly worn out from the smoke inhalation. He wanted to walk out with Sirius, Lupin and his friends, but he had urgent questions for Dumbledore. So he hugged Sirius at the door, knowing he would not see him for a while to come, and watched him as he descended the spiralling stairs. Harry wished they could have been together under better circumstances but life was not obliging tonight.

Ron and Hermione tried to stay behind but Harry fended them off, assuring them that they would talk afterwards. Naturally his friends looked initially defiant and adamant, intent on finding out what had happened in Malfoy Manor, but they soon relented and followed the others down Dumbledore's stairs. Harry went back into the office to face what he was sure was to be life-changing revelations from Dumbledore.

It had not been a spoken arrangement for him to stay behind but he felt, and was sure, that Dumbledore also, by silent obligation, wanted to speak with him. So Harry took the seat in front of Dumbledore's desk. He had so many things conflicting feelings towards Dumbledore that he could not keep track of all of them. He sighed softly and looked up at his headmaster.

Dumbledore gave him a small smile.

Harry exhaled. "Professor, I had to rescue Draco. Voldemort was torturing him in my dream—I mean, in my nightmare."

It then suddenly occurred to Harry right after that mistake that, indeed, he had something of which to be ashamed: even though he had been scared for Draco while he was in that hated room and was disgusted at what Voldemort was making him do, he still... enjoyed what he saw and experienced. He had to be ashamed of that…

But this was not fair. Voldemort was the one who should be ashamed, not him! He, Harry, did not lust and obsess over his male peers, nor was he awed by their naivety and purity, relishing breaking it!

But... he did admire Draco in that vein somewhat. But that was Voldemort's fault – Voldemort considered Draco's body like that, not him! He had nothing to be ashamed of...!

But... he had wet his sheets, he had had an orgasm, and that orgasm did not arise from his enjoyment of having mental sex with Draco – he had come when... the moment it was obvious Draco was enjoying what he was doing: when he had tilted his head back and released that undoing breathe, that whiney moa… The quality of it, the way it sounded and what it meant… The way Draco looked in that exquisite, still moment in time, as though he had been overtaken by a foreign passion… The way that passion made him glow… It had overtaken Harry unexpectedly, and the wave hit him hard and spoilt his sheets. He came when Draco started enjoying pleasing him—no, not him – Voldemort! He had to get that straight! Draco had not been pleasing him – he had been pleasing that ugly, disgusting, twisted snake and he had not meant to enjoy it! He was not supposed to! He—he... Was he just as twisted and sick as Voldemort?

No. He had enjoyed it for other reasons, for more innocent reasons… But those reasons were possibly more detrimental to his confidence in his heterosexuality. Why did Draco's own enjoyment affect him so much? What impact did Draco have on him? How much did Draco affect him – not Voldemort – personally?

What would he feel if he saw Draco right now in the middle of the corridor outside Dumbledore's office, alone and wearing his Invisibility Cloak? What would he do? Would he go and hug him? Would he just ask him for his Cloak back? Would Draco turn his back on him as though he had not risked his own life to save him from Voldemort?

Wait, what did his saving him from Voldemort mean to the two of them now? Was their relationship different now? Would anything change? These questions together with his general disquiet brought Harry to his moment of truth.

_Harry, how do you feel about Draco? _

Harry was afraid to answer. He was afraid of the answer. He turned widened, fear-stained eyes at his quiet headmaster. Why was his heart beating so fast? He was afraid for some reason. Dumbledore had remained silent all this time but now raised a silver eyebrow.

"I understand you must have felt compelled to take some sort of action in Mr Malfoy's plight, having seen first-hand what he went through for two nights in a row. But believe me when I say I was equally surprised to discover that Mr Malfoy had been summoned again by Voldemort the next day. It could hardly be anticipated given it was so unprecedented. It seemed Voldemort had taken a special interest in Mr Malfoy though for reasons I can only vaguely surmise. Perhaps it is as simply as Mr Malfoy being extremely good-looking." Dumbledore did not laugh at this, chuckle or smile.

Harry looked back blankly at Dumbledore, and his next words slipped off his tongue with disturbing ease, as though they had been hanging there all this time, waiting to be spoken, due to spoke because they were so obvious.

"Voldemort was obsessed with Draco's body and his 'innocence'. He liked how pure and how pale he was. He liked how fresh and untainted he was. He liked his skin and hands and feet and legs and his thighs..." Harry felt his penis harden. "He's sick."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat. "Certainly."

Harry shook his head in silent anger, his lips pressed into two thin strips as he glared at nothing in particular. "I'm not like you…" he hissed at no one, shaking his head. "I don't see him like that. I'm not attracted to him like that. I-" He shook his head again and shut his eyes, and sighed in frustration. "Sir, did Voldemort possess me at some stage tonight?"

"I knew it!" yelled Phineas Nigellus Black, as he jabbed a victorious finger towards the ceiling, pride seeping from his every painted pore, and he leaped to the foreground of his portrait once more to ogle at Harry the better. "I knew you had the markings of Slytherin's heritage! It is no surprise when the Sorting Hat told us four years ago about your Sorting woes, and only a few days ago you practically turned this office over! Oh and if I may so, that turn you just had-"

"You may not, Phineas," said Dumbledore very sternly, and Phineas shortly subsided into glowing-faced silence. Harry had never seen Black so exultant. "Yes, Harry, he did. That's why he now regards Mr Malfoy and his family as traitors. They were in my office and we were discussing the conditions of their allegiance to our side. When... when Professor Snape heard the stairs moving, he went out of the office to investigate. I assumed that you somehow disposed of his interference and carried on into my office. That was when you saw Mr Malfoy and his wife."

Harry took in all of this with apprehensive but keen attention. "Did... did you know I was possessed? ...Immediately?"

"'Immediately'?" scoffed Black loudly, still looking thoroughly delighted with Harry as he had never before. "My dear boy, if you only could have seen yourself…" But Black cut off at the look on Dumbledore's face, and Harry could not blame him. Though Dumbledore betrayed no overt signs of anger, he seemed to be emanating something more powerful than anger with his whole body, let alone his eyes, which were levelled steadily at Black.

Dumbledore turned to Harry and regarded him wordlessly for a while before he answered, "Naturally yes. I lament informing you that you don't have near the vocabulary Tom has, nor do you have his movements. Indeed it was a most strange sight to witness." Dumbledore gave a small, single chuckle.

So he was not like Voldemort after all. Yes. Harry smiled slightly at his mentor, but his face quickly crumbled.

"Voldemort wanted me to join – said we could achieve great things with our fury or something like that."

Dumbledore chortled, which made Harry look up at him sharply. "Oh a partnership with you is the last thing on Voldemort's mind – the very last thing. There couldn't be a finer truth than that…"

Harry nodded. He had thought the same thing, but there was something quite fixed about Dumbledore's smile. Then he remembered Professor Snape at his mention.

"Nagini killed Snape," he declared, enunciating his words, for he felt it deserved to be said in the open – stated – made known and acknowledged, therefore respected.

"Come again?" said Black, who looked as though he had not heard correctly, and he was not the only person who thought their painted ears were acting funny, as all around the room the portraits were frowning at Harry.

Dumbledore did not turn to Black to reproach him but looked sad. "Professor Snape, Harry. Yes, he is no longer with us. I understand you weren't too taken by his – shall we say – sullen demeanour. However, Severus held a big place in my heart. I will dearly miss my Potions teacher."

"Severus Snape is dead?" asked one aged wizard who had a trumpet to his ear, which, apparently, had improved his hearing only negligibly. He was shushed down by his neighbours, who continued to look down at Harry avidly.

Harry stared at Dumbledore. "I think I'll miss him, too," he said, the authenticity of his words surprising him slightly. Dumbledore smiled wanly. "Snape – Professor Snape – loved my mother since they were at Hogwarts, and he changed sides because he wanted to protect her from Voldemort for some reason. I... I never would have guessed. I always thought he hated me right through..." Harry shook his head, disbelieving, recalling those white wisps of smoke rising up to him, streaming a million pictures through his mind of hooked-nosed boys, ginger-haired girls and haughty sisters.

"He had his reasons for doing so, Harry, and one of them was to not put his spy position in jeopardy. He couldn't be known to be fond of the Boy Who Lived, whom Voldemort is going to great lengths to destroy."

Harry thought that was reasonable. He had seen a professor die tonight. Even if it was Snape, it still unexpectedly hurt, especially considering his connection to his mother he had only very recently discovered. He still could not wrap his head around that one – he still could not swallow the sound of his mother's name coming out of Snape's lips. But he did not want to dwell on Snape – the topic seemed to have a negative impact on Dumbledore.

Harry tried to marshal his questions together and order them properly. Of course he wished to ask the most glaring one of them all: why had he survived the Killing Curse for the second time? Why was he still alive?

"Professor Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore seemed to look back at him, as though he had not been before, but he had been. Perhaps his eyes had focused on him now. Harry did not know what to make of it.

"Yes, Harry." Dumbledore cleared his throat.

"In Malfoy Manor, when I was hiding under my Invisibility Cloak, Voldemort had cast a Summoning Charm on it, but the Cloak did not fly to him."

"How, may I ask, did Voldemort know you were under your Invisibility Cloak?"

Harry thought back. "I think we have had someone spying on me this whole time," he said slowly. "This other Death Eaters, Nott, I think, had been telling Voldemort about the times I went to your office. He even told him about your letters. He said his son had been seeing all of this and reporting to him. Someone has been keeping tabs on me."

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "Nott senior. Theodore Nott is his son. Slytherin."

"Naturally," Harry mumbled, unable to help himself.

Dumbledore looked pensive. "I will have to give that issue some thought. So, Theodore Nott has been spying on your movements in and out of this office. Had he seen you with Mr Malfoy in the corridor on Saturday night when Mr Malfoy had returned from Malfoy Manor?"

Harry blushed, remembering himself and Draco holding each other after he had caused the windows and torches to shatter and spray glass on them, and Draco had been naked all that time.

"Yes," he said, in a small voice.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I will have to deal with Mr Nott in some manner." He looked back at Harry. "You asked about your Invisibility Cloak. Assuming that Voldemort cast the spell in the right direction-" Harry nodded, and his lips twitched slightly. "-Harry, your Invisibility Cloak is known to be what we call a true Invisibility Cloak. This lends itself to what I wished to discuss with you many suns ago."

Harry frowned but he continued to listen keenly.

Dumbledore sighed resignedly. "Your Invisibility Cloak isn't just any cloak, Harry – it is descended from the Peverells."

"The Peverells…" said Black under his breath, his eyes narrowed to the ceiling contemplatively.

"The Peverells?" Harry said, something stirring in his brain. "I think Professor Slughorn said something about them being related to my father. Is that how my father came to have it?"

"I definitely don't know them, then," muttered Black disdainfully.

Dumbledore explained to Harry about his father's side spanning generations.

"While other Invisibility Cloaks wear, fray, and grey such that their function is compromised, yours, Harry, will never fade – it absolutely conceals – it doesn't submit to summoning charms or any other spells, and it doesn't wear – it's a genuine, true Invisibility Cloak. You can read about it in the story I told you about in that book."

Harry nodded. He brought his legs up onto the chair. It was then that he had felt his broken wand brush against his hip.

When Dumbledore saw Harry's face crumble he asked, "I believe your wand was broken?"

Harry looked up, resurfacing from his drowning despair at the reminder of the state of his wand. Without asking how Dumbledore had known, he pulled out the two pieces of his eleven inches of holly and phoenix feather and placed it on Dumbledore's desk gingerly just so he could look at his tattered wand in self-pity – he felt entitled to it.

"Can wands be repaired by any chance?" Harry asked wryly. Of course he very vaguely believed there was a remote chance of this happening, but mostly that he would probably have to buy a new wand, about which he felt very angry and apprehensive. He loved this wand – it had sentimental value, as any other wizard would say about their wand.

Dumbledore revealed his own wand from within his robes and studied it for a second. Harry looked up from his broken wand lying to Dumbledore's own. Surely Dumbledore was not showing off his whole and fully functional wand. Harry felt like he was and he knew it was a little crazy to think so but so what?

Dumbledore brought his wand down on Harry's and muttered softly, "_Reparo_."

Harry witnessed in awe as his wand pieces fused back into place and lay completely repaired on Dumbledore's desk. His eyes bounced from Dumbledore to the wand. And after he grabbed it and a shower of red and golden sparks shot out of it, a huge grin stole his face.

Dumbledore beamed at him. "Harry, this is no ordinary wand – no other could have done that."

"But now, Dumbledore, this is most unjust…!" said Phineas Nigellus Black, ogling at the wand that lay in Dumbledore's hand reverently. "Years of adorning your walls and greeting your many guests, never once have you…" But what Dumbledore had never once done was not to be known, for Black subsided into an incredulous silence, still ogling at Dumbledore's wand.

"I sure do love this position here," trilled the corpulent, red-nosed wizard behind Dumbledore, moving around and establishing his rear firmly and indulgently in his seat. "The revelations that unfold in this room, quite priceless…"

"Indeed," breathed his neighbour with a tremulous smile.

Much like Black with Dumbledore's wand, Harry could not remove his eyes off his own, newly repaired wand. Was it still the same wand? Harry flexed it and tried – gently – to break it but his wand did not yield: it was quite positively, solidly repaired. He turned to Dumbledore. "Thank you, Professor," he said, a little breathless himself, relief overwhelming him. Only then did he process Dumbledore's words after the elation he felt. "What do you mean your wand is not an ordinary wand, sir?"

"My dear student," said Black heartily in his most patronizing tone yet, "if it's what I suspect it to be – for no other wand could have done that indeed – this wand has enjoyed a remarkable legend-!"

"I will do the answering, thank you, Phineas," said Dumbledore. He explained about the legend of the Elder Wand, or the Death Stick or the Wand of Destiny.

"Before you came into my office tonight, possessed as you were, Mr Malfoy had sought to entice me into letting him and his family join our side by giving me 'exclusive information,' as he referred to it. Of course I would have let them join us without this but pride does tend to make some do interesting things, you see. Mr Malfoy went on to tell me that Voldemort was looking for this very wand – precisely why I had hidden it from view, as you in all probability would have recognized it."

Harry felt bad about himself. He felt like a threat to everyone now. Voldemort was capable of possessing him. But back in Malfoy Manor, in that doorway of that burning room, Voldemort, his red slits gleaming from the fire, had said that his anger had made that possible, and he remembered feeling angry at Dumbledore for not protecting Draco. Perhaps if he controlled his temper he would not be a threat. Most frustrating was that he could not even remember what he had done when he had been possessed.

"This wand is said to be superior to all other wands, and a wizard who wields this wand will never be defeated in battle. Voldemort is looking for it for that exact reason. He wants to defeat me and you, Harry. He was further motivated by what had happened last year when your wands had connected and had invoked Priori Incantatem. He believes if he simply just finds a superior wand, he could vanquish you for good and truly be invincible."

Harry took all of this in with a nod. Then he asked, "Sir, Voldemort said that Snape had cast the Killing Curse on him, but he woke up again and I saw him wake up. And I had survived the Killing Curse as well when he cast it on me."

Something heavy suddenly fell on Dumbledore's face that pulled his features down. A very sad smile slowly stretched its way across his face. He looked down at his table, sighed, and looked back up at Harry, a tear glistening in his eye.

"Voldemort had cast the Killing Curse on you, and he had survived one from Severus?" he asked quietly, still with that rueful smile. He seemed to ask a question for which he already had an answer but merely wanted to go through the normal motions of an ordinary conversation.

Harry nodded. He could not comprehend why Dumbledore was acting the way he was.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. His smile vanished as he waved his wand and muttered, "_Serpensortia_," almost distractedly, and a tangerine, metre-long cobra appeared on his table. The rather attractive snake reared its head, expanding its hood where diamond shapes glistened in the torchlight.

Harry gasped. "Professor, I can't speak Parseltongue anymore! I tried to do that with Nagini but I couldn't tell what it was hissing…! But I don't understand. I could understand when Voldemort told his snake about dinner or whatever, but after—after I had woken up, Voldemort did Legilimency on me and found out that I couldn't speak to his snake again. He said I was his seventh. What does that mean?" Harry's mind raced with the questions that had been obediently patient but now screamed to be answered.

"His seventh," Dumbledore replied. His eyes darted about the room randomly before they flicked to Harry's scar.

"He did that too," Harry pointed out.

Dumbledore's eyes lowered to Harry.

"What did he mean I was his 'seventh'? Seventh what?" Harry asked impatiently.

"Seventh Horcrux," Dumbledore muttered.

"Sorry?" Harry was growing frustrated at this seemingly guilty demeanour of Dumbledore's.

"Seventh what?" asked the stoutly man with the colourful pyjamas adjacent to Black, who waved him down and looked down with wary interest at the scene.

Dumbledore remained silent for a moment. He vanquished the snake on his table with another flick of his wand. "He said you were his seventh Horcrux."

Harry did not understand any of this. "What's a Horcrux?"

Harry had emerged out of Dumbledore's office a different person minutes later. His whole world had shifted. His whole reality had been flipped upside down and shaken. He did not want to indulge on that tiny hope on the horizon that Voldemort technically was not immortal. It was far too small a hope to give energy to. It was too impossible to tackle.

A million thoughts hailing in his mind, Harry dazedly went up to Gryffindor Tower. He was beyond exhausted, his breathing was slightly painful from the smoke in his lungs, and his eyes were growing heavy and stingy, which could only mean a headache was not too far off. He just wanted to collapse somewhere.

As he approached the portrait of the Fat Lady he thought of Draco. He had successively rescued Draco from Voldemort, and before he left Dumbledore's office he had asked Dumbledore about his situation. Dumbledore had replied that Draco and his family could not return to Voldemort even if they wanted to, so Harry was sure Voldemort would not touch Draco anymore.

Before he climbed into the portrait hole he was assailed by an impulse to go and check on Draco in the Slytherin dungeons. But he reasoned that there were so many wrongs in that that he dismissed it summarily. However, he was still a little anxious about his dad's Invisibility Cloak sleeping in Slytherin territory and with Malfoy... That Cloak was covering a naked Draco under there… His cloak was all over Draco's body, touching it. It was going to have his scent on him…

Reeling from a sudden, unexpected blush, Harry made quick work of climbing down the portrait hole, but not before the Fat Lady asked, "Ooh, girl problems?" and further discovered when he landed into the Gryffindor common room that he would not be spared an interrogation: Hermione was standing firm between him and the staircase, arms crossed, lips pursed, and eyes narrowed dangerously on him. And beside her, Ron was fidgeting with a frayed thread of his pyjama top, his slightly pink face vacillating between expressions of Hermione-like sternness and brotherly sympathy.

Harry stopped short at their appearance. They could not possibly expect him to explain things now after he had survived Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

_Honestly now… They can't be serious…_

"Not now, guys," he said. Even as he attempt to walk past them he felt his chest sink with weariness and exhaustion.

Hermione titled her quivering chin upwards. "I'm sorry, Harry, but Ron and I need answers. There's something we're not being told. We couldn't hear anything when we all were in Dumbledore's office with Malfoy's parents. It like was being Confunded or something but with a buzzing noise."

"It was Snape, I'm telling you," said Ron darkly. "He was just standing there. And I could've sworn I saw his hand move one time…"

"Don't accuse a teacher, Ron," said Hermione, who had not averted her eyes from Harry. "Harry, you were something else that night. We've never seen you like that."

Hermione was referring to the way Harry had moved when he had been possessed: he had moved with a slow, delicious grace towards Draco's father, prowling fluidly to the man like a snake across water, and had spoken with demanding presence.

"I don't know what you're taking about," Harry said. "I don't remember anything. But I went to Malfoy Manor. I saved Draco from Voldemort. I survived a Killing Curse from him. Snape died. The Malfoys are on our side now. Now, I need to get to my bed. Anything else you want to know, ask me tomorrow. I'm going to bed."

He left spluttering faces behind him after his deadpanned summary, and he went up the stairs to the fifth-year boys' dormitory.

Tiredly stripping his robes off, and his shoes barely off his feet, Harry collapsed into bed, sinking mercilessly into his awaiting, soft embrace…

He did not Occlude…

And he slept like a baby.


	14. Ripples

**Chapter 14**

**Ripples**

It was a strange process to wake up. Again it took him a minute to figure how to shut his alarm up. But he did not get to do that as Ron had come over and shaken him awake. He also did him the favour of turning his beeping alarm off. That beeping noise was a strange one, was it not…? Strange and weird and mysterious and very grating…

Harry sat up on his bed and opened up his bed curtains. He had not slept much. He did not know what time he went to bed. Eyes bleary and eyelids glued to his eyelashes, he trudged along to the bathroom to perform the usual rituals, afterwards returning to the boys' dormitory. His gaze was unusually attracted to the window. The day looked new, like it had been washed of the grime of the past few weeks. It was bright as he had never seen all year.

It was a new day outside there, a new beginning. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, feeling his awareness stretch to every corner of his body for once, and all the tired and creaky places made themselves known. But it did not matter – he felt alive again. But he was not assuming a reinvigorated, new-lease-on-life worldview – he was merely inwardly celebrating the calm after the storm. It was nothing major.

He prepared his rucksack. There was no smile on his face, just a mild expression. He could feel the images and issues that had dogged him for the past weeks just on the tip of the surface, stalking his unwilling conscience, waiting to spill over and overwhelm him… But quietly and diligently he occupied his mind with the perfunctory motions of stuffing book after book into his bag, glorifying in the physical exertions that guaranteed him control of those feelings.

Minutes later, he came down the stairs into the Gryffindor common room. He could not remember when he had last slept so peacefully. He understood why he had not had a vision last night – it was the same reason why he could not speak to snakes anymore. He had not been particularly proud of that aspect of himself but he did cherish it: snakes were remarkably instructive creatures, vastly versed in many aspects of life, particularly human flaws. He really would miss that part of him. Even though he knew he could only do it because he had harboured a piece of Voldemort inside him for but a year of his entire life, he still cherished that one curse.

Ron and Hermione were waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. Hermione wore an indecipherable expression on her face, and Ron was looking discomfited, shooting glances at Hermione doubtlessly to see if she was going to bring anything up from last night.

"Ready, Harry?"

Snakes were indeed interesting creatures. Harry furtively tracked the progress of a Slytherin that had just stepped into the Great Hall heading to his House table. Harry still could not help secretively admiring Draco's impassivity. The bloke had survived being raped and tortured by the most feared Dark wizard of the century, and he could go on as though nothing had happened. There was no limp to his strides, there was no vulnerable, shattered expression on his face, and there was no sag to his shoulders. Draco was not built like that. He strode inside in the same manner as he had yesterday. To the outside world Draco Malfoy was just enjoying another ordinary morning in his privileged life, sweeping into the Great Hall with his chin parallel to the ground, his strut as impeccable as ever, and his face exceptionally expressionless. Perhaps it did not have anything to reveal.

But was that possible? For Draco to undergoing a process of denial or something like that? Was this convincing – or convinced – visage exactly that, a visage? Harry did not know. It was either this or that person there was not a victim. Harry forced himself to turn away from his surreptitious observations.

The Great Hall was abuzz. Fervent chatter bubbled across the room as it was a Monday, and many looked on despairingly at the busy academic week lying ahead. The first thing Harry, as well Ron and Hermione, had done when he had stepped into the Hall was look up at the High Table. Harry had not known what else he had been expecting. Snape's chair was empty. Snape died that day in the early hours of the morning.

Dumbledore was there, chatting amicably with Professor McGonagall as though he were not grieving for one of his professors. But Harry knew how affected Dumbledore was – he had been there in his office and had seen his face crumble when Harry had declared the death. He thought Dumbledore would need someone else to bother with his chitchat other than Snape from now on.

Harry breakfasted on some milk tart and pumpkin juice. Beside him, Ron would not be disturbed with this intricate process of consumption. Once Ron had treated Harry to a rather detailed and very useful lesson in eating, pacing yourself and preparing the most wholesome combinations of food from less richer foods. This had given Harry a saddening glimpse into the life of a poor lad brought up in a family of seven and having to, well, eat sparingly.

Harry looked up just in time to see Hermione's eyes quickly look away from somewhere behind him. His heartbeat mysteriously quickened, and he realized just where she had been looking. It had to be it. The direction of her gaze was accurate. It just had to be.

An unexpected and empty guilt accosted him, accompanying the sudden surge in his pulse rate. He suddenly recalled everything that had occurred between him and Draco, everything he could and should feel guilty about: Harry was, with consent, assaulted by flashes of a desperate, fierce, crushing hold around naked, flawless skin. Flashes of a body illuminated by burning tangerine as a milky, caramel expanse of neck tilts boiling silver marbles and ignited blond strands up to the ceiling. Flashes of long fingers wrapping over pale arms in fright. Of bow legs bending slightly in unchecked vulnerability… Harry looked down at his plate, his face red with incandescence, but the mind was relentless… The flawless, white arch of the instep of a foot as he approached. Slender hips perfectly indented with sharp hipbones. The pale mounds of the buttocks as Draco lay in those emerald silk sheets... Harry closed his eyes in just submission and hated himself.

Confusion and indignation soon faded as he closed his eyes and as his ears presented him with a fluttering noise from above. He opened his eyes and looked up and saw the many students' owls flying into the Great Hall. Without thinking his head shot to the Slytherin table, and horror struck him and twisted his chest open as his eyes locked onto a calm silver gaze fixed on him.

His heart stopped.

Draco was looking at him.

Harry did not live those two seconds he looked into those grey eyes, _Avada Kedavra_ disguised in fatal mercury.

Draco did not blink once as he averted his gaze upwards to the soaring avian chaos above.

Harry was back, from somewhere. He blinked. He quickly turned back to his table, swallowing, and was met with calculating hazel eyes.

_Shit._

The eyes calmly looked down and resumed reading Ancient Runes, face blank.

She had figured out something, and Harry was finding himself scared, panicked – for what, he had only had no idea. He watched her carefully through his fringe, heart thrashing inside his chest, feeling suddenly guilty of a heinous crime, probably blowing the whole thing out of proportion in his demented mind the more he thought on it. Hermione then looked aside as a small, brown owl almost landed in the plate she had just pushed aside. She gave the bird a Knut and claimed the _Daily Prophet_ it carried as the bird scurried off.

Harry looked away and studied every forkful of tart that came to his lips. Breaking from this momentarily to look at Hermione, he saw her eyes widen as she read the front page, her lips slightly parted in shock. These days he was so used to that expression that he nearly snorted, which would probably have been facetious.

"Mr Ollivander's dead," Hermione deadpanned.

The spoon coming up to Harry's lips fell back to his plate and Ron choked on his breakfast.

"Mr Ollivander? He's dead?" Harry asked in utter disbelief.

Hermione pursed her lips. Her eyes brimmed with tears but they hardened the next second when they darted to Ron, who was coughing and stumping his chest. She handed Harry the paper without taking her eyes off Ron, clearly waiting for Ron to recover so that when their eyes met, hers would say, 'I told you,' for Harry knew Hermione had indeed told Ron many times not to shove food down his throat liberally.

* * *

**OLLIVANDER OFFED**

**OLLIVANDERS OVER?**

Thaddeus Helper

_Celebrated wandmaker Garrick Ollivander, popularly known as Mr Ollivander, has been found dead after having been missing for nearly a month. _

_Ollivander's body was discovered in his store in the early hours of Sunday morning. Authorities say they have no suspects. Ollivanders Wand Shop is widely expected to be headed up by Ollivander's great grandson Garnett Ollivander, as ownership of the shop has remained in the family since its inception in 382 BC. Garnett, who lives in the United States, has been informed of the death by the Ministry of Magic via BOMUSA._

_Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge at a small memorial service in St Hedwig's Hall described Ollivander as a gentle spirit with great dedication to his craft. "He was one of Merlin's finest. It is a terrible and atrocious incident," he said, adding that the public can be certain the Auror squad was on top of the case and hard at work at finding the suspects._

_Asked whether he thought that the mass Azkaban breakout and Ollivander's murder were related, a visibly angered Fudge said that they were strictly investigating the death as an isolated incident._

* * *

Ron gaped at the smiling picture of Mr Ollivander standing proudly in front of his shop, a single wand lying on a faded purple cushion in the window. Ron looked unsettled and so incredulous he had stopped chewing. He started working hard on clearing his full mouth, swallowing in manageable chunks until he was able to properly grimace in mourning and speak.

"But… he was always there when my brothers had to collect their wands. He was just... always there... every year... for everybody... Always!"

This threw a thick, sombre mood on them. Another one lost in the war. It drew their attention to the empty seat at the High Table, and just then Dumbledore stood up. The Great Hall had fallen silent even before he made the call for silence. "Your attention, please."

Sitting next to him, Professor McGonagall had an irritated, brittle look about her, and seemed to be cursing at the very air around her.

Dumbledore lowered his arms and gave the attentive Hall of students a broad smile. "Good morning, students. I hope you're prepared for another exciting week of lessons," he chuckled.

This was met with pockets of laughter scattered about the Hall and a few smirks. It seemed the students' sense of humour had been shot after seeing the front page story of the _Daily Prophet_.

The light in Dumbledore's eyes slowly vanished and his smile faded into the countless wrinkles on his face. "I would like to say a few words on the recent events that have affected us both remotely and closer to home – known or otherwise."

Eyebrows contracted tightly, McGonagall gave Dumbledore a piercing gaze from her seat. For all of its intensity, Dumbledore could have been a misbehaving, teenage miscreant.

"As you have already read hopefully – we do support ardent reading here at Hogwarts-" Dumbledore gave a soft chuckle. "-Mr Ollivander, the wandmaker who ran the shop named after him, had been with us since as long as we can remember. The many children of this century will remember him vividly. Although I was not fortunate enough in my youth to acquire my wand from his stock in Diagon Alley, I believe many of you have fond memories of purchasing your first wands at his shop – assuming of course that you hadn't bothered him with purchasing another and having to ravage his store twice."

The students obliged him and giggled, a few Hufflepuffs shaking in their seats with tears streaming down their faces already.

"I had known Mr Ollivander for a long time and had an interesting and very enlightening friendship with him." A blue eye twinkled in Harry's direction. "Indeed we will sorely miss our beloved wandmaker. He was, after all, the star attraction of that day you first tripped to Diagon Alley to collect your school supplies."

Dumbledore held up his chalice and the kids followed suit with their glasses filled with pumpkin juice and Hogsy. "We celebrate a cherished life, a life that had breathed life into our discovery of our own magic. He had served a very vital and honorary purpose: to acquaint you, the witch and wizard, with the instrument of your essence. To give you your first building block to unlocking the spirit and the pulsing thread of life within you. He gave you the implement of your magic." Dumbledore smiled warmly down at his students. There was almost no dry eye in the Hall. Dumbledore raised his chalice higher. "To Mr Ollivander."

The Hall repeated his words in a heartfelt chorus.

The mood was already wan and sombre in the Hall, but Dumbledore did not sit down.

"Furthermore..."

The heads of the students swivelled back up, their faces betraying their expectations of further bad news. All around the High Table attention sharpened impressively.

"...We have lost another soul," Dumbledore went on, "though I surmise it to receive less charity than that of Mr Ollivander." He cleared his throat. "In the early hours of the morning, Professor Severus Snape was taken from us."

McGonagall held her hands to her lips. The High Table's muttering grew louder than those of the students below them. Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged dark looks but turned back to Dumbledore.

"However, whether it's clear or not," continued Dumbeldore, "Severus' death wasn't at all pointless – he did a great service to the Wizarding world. For a multitude of reasons I cannot tell you how, why or where he's now deceased. Please bear with me as I commemorate our very own Potions master.

"I have known Severus a long, had been with him through his many trials – very terrible trials many can only scarcely imagine. And he had also seen me through my own challenges as well. Severus Snape was the best Potioneer I have ever had the privilege to meet worthy of being mentioned among the likes of masters like the great Portia Naelblume." Dumbledore smiled proudly.

"Raise your cups, please, for one of Merlin's finest and most heavily disguised blessings to us." He beamed at their chuckling faces. "To Severus Snape – Hogwarts Potions professor and a dear, unorthodox friend to a surprising many," he finished as he smiled down at his staff.

McGonagall quickly grabbed her cup and raised it, attempting to disguise her reception to this news in front of her students. A few seats across the table Professor Sprout had no such reserve, however: she was panting profusely and fanning her face as she patted down consolingly and rather forcefully by Hagrid, who wore a slightly forlorn face, which, bearing in mind its recent injuries, made him look to be positively grieving for Snape's death.

"Thank you," said Dumbledore solemnly, before resuming his seat. "You may return to your breakfast."

Harry, knowing that Snape also held significance for Draco, looked over his shoulder at the boy and saw nothing but a few white-blond strands falling over a blank face, arms and legs crossed regally, silver eyes staring down at his plate. This stirred a modicum of irritation and indignation within Harry, but he turned back and faced his House table. This time he did not notice the lingering look Hermione had on him before she had gone back to her breakfast.

The Great Hall went on about their breakfast. The Hufflepuffs reminisced in a positive light about Snape. Though what positive thing could be say about him would be left to be pondered by the highest magical philosophers of the land. The Slytherins looked to be the most affected, having lost their Head of House and the one person that understood them and their complexities. But Harry knew that in truth Slytherins were not complicated – they were selectively simple and only sparingly strategic. For them it was all about the right combination of those things.

Hermione was reading the article on Mr Ollivander again when she saw the strangest thing she was sure she would never witness in her natural life.

Draco Malfoy was walking over to the Gryffindor table.

What day was this…?

The fervent chatter of the Great Hall fell sharply as everybody started realized where Malfoy was heading. Ah, another infamous confrontation between the Boy Who Lived and Hall Jester. But a heated spill-out between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy right in the middle of the Great Hall was something yet to be seen. It seemed in for a debut today.

Harry knew there was something wrong, something strange and different happening around him all of a sudden but he did not take it to mind. But when the lively banter of the Hall died down almost completely he was compelled to find out what had happened. So he idly looked up from his plate and noticed the hostile expressions on his Housemates' faces. He turned around and saw Draco coming his way.

A stupid fear so intense stabbed him that he heard his plate crack under the rest of his uneaten food and saw his glass crack but remain in shape. Why was he reacting like this? He could not escape from the trap of those blank, grey eyes. It was ridiculous. This was not what it was. This was just another bloke, Draco Malfoy, coming up to him to start some bollocks or something.

Draco walked over to Harry in a moderate pace, carrying his dragon-hide bag over his shoulder. He stood in front of him and, out of his school robes, pulled out a large, unwashed Invisibility Cloak. He did spare a thought to the deafening silence in the Great Hall but proffered the Cloak to the other boy.

"Thank you, Potter." And it was with the barest, sweetest smile.

The Slytherins looked scandalized, the Ravenclaws curiously assessing, the Hufflepuffs – beyond description, possibly tittering on euphoria – and the Gryffindors were simply utterly floored.

Draco strutted to the large doors of the Great Hall.

Ron's vehement scowl had been instantly vanished with those words, so potent they were. He had never thought he would hear them from the ferret's lips. Hermione, Merlin forgive her, was one of the people who were gaping and showing their chewed breakfast in their mouth. Today was indeed a very peculiar day. She studied the boy's back as he strutted over to the doors. She turned to Harry and saw...

That smile, however tiny, could not be for him. Those words, sounding so foreign on those lips, could not have been meant for him. That journey, from the Slytherin table to the Gryffindor table, could not have been in his name. Harry Potter was thanked by Draco Malfoy. No. Harry was thanked by Draco…

Harry stared at the other boy as he made his way to the doors of the Great Hall, absolutely taken aback and beyond reacting any more intelligently than simple repetitive phrases in his mind declaring, 'He smiled. At. Me. He thanked me. Me.' No, no, no. This was wrong. It should not be affecting him so much. Draco should not have felt so close when he had stood at least a metre from him. Draco's words should not have spurred his heartbeat and dried his lips. And Harry should not be able to see the exact image that would have been in front of him as though Draco were not clothed. And Harry should not have been getting a bloody erection after that thought. _Oh my frickin' Merlin_… It was ridiculous. Harry actually knew Draco's body! And more ridiculously and even funnier – he loved it! Ha, ha, ha, ha! He loved it! HE LOVED IT! HA! Voldemort had won! Yes, yes, he has. He loved everything physical that Voldemort loved—No, Voldemort did not understand love, Dumbledore told him this – that was why he could snap out… of… his... possession...

_Shit…_

Harry stood up. "Draco."

Slight tremors took over his body, and panic and resignation and shock seeped into his bones.

"Draco." It was nothing more than a breathless gasp as sudden weakness took over.

Nevertheless he made an effort to stand up and follow the boy out of the Great Hall, leaving his friends, bag and Invisibility Cloak behind. He ignored the countless eyes boring into him like laser dots on his skin, ignored the blatantly exposed uvulae of the Hufflepuff table, and ignored every head that swivelled as he went past. He threw the doors open, whipped his head around at each end of the hallway and spotted the blond teen on his right heading early to his first class on Monday – Potions. Harry took off down the passage.

"Draco."

Physical, just physical, that's all – simple.

Draco's calm swagger did not falter as he continued down the corridor.

"Draco."

That's all – only love his body – still redeemable.

"Draco."

_How do I feel about you?_

Draco tucked a lock of hair behind his ear.

Caught.

"Draco!"

"What?" yelled the Slytherin.

Harry approached him with the look of someone going somewhere with a clear idea of what he was going to do when he got there. But au contraire, he merely stood in front of his school nemesis, hands fisted on his side, jaw clenched, emeralds alight, and did not know what to say.

This was the same person he knew – nothing different, nothing bloody different about him! It was just Draco Bloody Malfoy!

Draco eyed him calmly, folding his arms across his chest, but there was something suffused in his hostile expression, a delicate indecisiveness about it.

"I don't suppose you enjoy hearing my name on your lips, so please spit it out, Potter, before… Merlin..." Draco looked incredulous and exasperated as his eyes shot to somewhere behind Harry before turning around and continuing on his way to the dungeons.

Harry had an inkling of what he would see before turned around. Naturally a cluster of heads poked around the edge of the door of the Great Hall, peeking at their interaction and doing a poor job of being surreptitious. Why did they not just flood the bloody hallway and formed a circle around him and Draco for their ultimate viewing pleasure? He glared furiously at the hoard of students who were convinced they hidden from view and turned back, watched as Draco carried along down the hallway as though nothing had just happened. Harry was so close… To what?

Before his mind could come up with an answer to that he turned around and stormed through the thicket of over-curious students into the Great Hall, muttering countless and increasingly infuriated _excuse-me's _through clenched teeth. He could kill someone right now…

He was glad to see Ron and Hermione making their way towards them. He lowered his head slightly in bashfulness as Hermione handed him his slightly fatter rucksack, which was presumably bulging with his Invisibility Cloak, and the three of them braved the clogged exit and carefully extracted themselves from the dangerously curious crowd into the hallway.

_Draco, I was so close to having you…_


	15. Resolutions

**Chapter 15**

**Resolutions**

The three of them silently made their way to their first class, leaving the fervent mutters from the crowd behind them.

Harry and his friends had not spoken properly since last night about anything serious. There was a heavy cloak on top of them that smothered more and more air around them. When they arrived at the classroom they opened the door and went inside, minding the room's sole occupant, who was absorbed in reading his _Post-Moderne Potions_, blond hair obscuring his face as he scribbled on a piece of parchment.

Harry and his friends bashfully crossed the threshold of the door. Draco did not look up as Harry imprudently shot his head in the direction of the furthest point from Draco as though that was not extremely telling. Ron wore a mild scowl in direction of the blond cap at Draco's blond cap as though now tempered. And Hermione's eyes were zapping between the Slytherin and her raven-haired friend.

Not long after they settled in their seats the bevy of girls that had followed them burst into the classroom and took their seats, all the while shooting soppy glances between Harry and Draco. Harry knew his face was growing pink but he resolutely kept his head turned towards the front, refusing to submit to the idiotic urge of pretending to be reading or ducking his head and scrambling for something in his bag.

More students trickled into the classroom. Harry tried his best to be remained oblivious to any eyes that fell on him. And he most certainly avoided that danger area – the general vicinity of that blond cap – he need not dig himself into the hole even deeper.

The class was finally full. There was no raucous bang as the door opened. There was no swift, bat-like gliding of billowing, dark robes. There was only the mundane sound of quick, tapping footsteps as the round figure of the dullest brown robes crossed the floor and twirled on his small feet to face the classroom.

The short form, with stubby legs and a sizeable belly, stood in front of the classroom with a comical smile, rolling on the balls of his feet. He clasped his hands together, entwining them and drew a deep breath in obscene and indulgent excitement. Harry could not see himself liking Professor Slughorn.

He had gathered from Dumbledore last night that he was no longer required to get the memory from the man, for which he was still vacillating between extreme relief and disappointment. He could not help but think that if he was still charged with the challenge of getting the memory from Slughorn, at least it would have delayed the reception of the truth about Voldemort's immortality. He chased that reality when chose to follow the Malfoys to their home.

"Morning, morning to all of you," Professor Slughorn trilled, a broad grin breaking across his face from underneath his huge walrus stomach. "You don't know who I'm but I can bet my Borvin slippers you're all curious, am I right?"

The class stared at him with dead faces.

Slughorn, unperturbed, blustered on. "My name's Professor Horace Slughorn and I will be taking you for Potions, Ordinary Wizarding Level. Yes, tragic news it is about your ex-professor's untimely death. Merlin, bless him," he said ruefully, even as his smile failed to vanish completely.

Harry's eyes darted to the head of white-blond hair. He saw Draco tilt his head sideways. Around the room the Ravenclaws shifted slightly in their seats and made other fussing motions. The Slytherins remained indifferent.

After a very short moment of commiserative silence, Slughorn continued with blistering energy, "Yes, yes, let's not spoil our cheery mood with all of that dark natter! No, no, let's not. But today! We will be brewing a very interesting potion, yes? Interesting, but quite tricky, I must warn you. Come on lads and lasses! Cauldrons out, spatulas at the ready!"

The man bustled about to get the lesson ready. He made to slip into Snape's private quarters but Draco spoke up and stopped him in his tracks.

"Excuse me, Professor…" Slughorn was more than glad to oblige the questions. Several other Slytherins asked questions, seemingly to distract him from entering Snape's quarters.

Harry suspected Draco did not want Professor Slughorn going into Snape's quarters and defiling it with his mere presence, just as barred Harry from doing a week ago. Harry stood up and prepared to head to Seamus' desk. If he already thought Slughorn to be... displeasing to say the least, he could not imagine what derogatory terms he existed as in Draco's head. He gave Seamus a friendly smile and put his things down at their station. Seamus smirked back and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Harry was in the middle of setting his instruments on the table when a gasp escaped him after his sudden realization. A deep flush crept up his neck into his cheeks as he burned to the roots of his hair. _Merlin…_ Seamus – who was now gay, or had been all along (Harry did not understand these things) – interpreted that as—he probably thought—The whole school probably though that... He only realized it now, after cooling down from that epiphanous daze in the Great Hall, that the school probably thought he had willingly lent Draco his Invisibility Cloak for some stupid reason after the other boy had returned it this morning, and that he probably did so regularly…

But why would that be questionable anyway? Because it was Draco Malfoy and the school knows Harry Potter to be in a bitter rivalry with him. Because Draco Malfoy would never come anywhere near the atrocious red and gold of the Gryffindor House table. Because Draco Malfoy, if he was to be borrowed an Invisibility Cloak by anyone, would not deign to bring it back! The bloke had an example to set as one of the more prominent characters in Slytherin! And because Draco Malfoy would never smile at Harry Potter.

Harry diligently prepared their work area, resolutely choosing to ignore Seamus, whose eyebrows were still atop his forehead.

After hearing a cleared throat from behind, Harry turned around. Professor Slughorn was gathering the class to the front. Harry was more than glad to follow suit. Standing at the front, their new Potions professor showed them the potions he had on display. The class was introduced to Polyjuice Potion (officially to the trio, at least) and Draught of the Living Death. They were instructed to note the smell, consistency and colour of the potions before returning to their own stations to attempt the Draught of the Living Death for today and Polyjuice for tomorrow. The students went to work.

One advantage of Snape's replacement was that Gryffindor actually gained rather than lost House points after emerging from Potions that morning, the same class in which they usually lost an average of fifty points every lesson, and coming out of it with a positive balance was indeed a strange and novel feeling.

"That was a great lesson!" said Hermione elatedly as they trotted down the corridor with the other students. "And we actually gained House points!"

Harry smiled. There was a less clogged air around them now but they still rarely spoke. That was why after Transfiguration (McGonagall resumed her usual terse and strict demeanour) Hermione drew them into an empty, unused classroom. As she led them into the door Harry saw behind Ron the other students passing by with widening eyes and furiously yapping mouths. Gossip never died.

Hermione sighed as Harry and Ron took in the dirty classroom. "Harry, we know you might be going through a difficult time but you've kept Ron and me in the dark for so long. We just want to know what's going on with you. What happened in Malfoy Manor? What's going on between you and Malfoy?"

Ron blinked rapidly as he looked away from the scene.

"There's nothing going on between me and Draco," Harry replied quickly.

"Then why do you act strange around him lately?" Hermione pushed on.

"How have I been acting strange?" Harry asked with a frown. He was growing increasingly uncomfortable with where Hermione was going with this.

Hermione did not speak for a while, seemingly gathering her thoughts. "First of all," she began, "you didn't want to tell us who was in danger on Saturday when you came back from Dumbledore's office. Then you practically gape at Mal—Draco when he came into the Great Hall at breakfast on Sunday, totally ignoring an emotionally distraught girl next to you…"

Harry opened his mouth to defend himself but Hermione held a finger up.

"…Then, after seeing Draco going out of the Great Hall, you go and follow him, and you were looking very worried about him. Th—I'm still talking, Harry!" she yelled when Harry showed every sign of interrupting her in another attempt to explain his actions. "Then you go and fetch your Invisibility Cloak and after I discover you, you raise your wand at me. That hurt me, Harry." Her eyes grew shiny with unshed tears.

Harry wanted to shrink into the ground. Ron looked down at his shoes and rubbed his arm nervously.

"You only then bother to tell me what had you worried so much and only in vague terms." She withdrew her skyward finger and started pacing. "Then, when I was talking to Sirius' face in the fire while Ron went up to wake you up, he doesn't come back with you. Tells me you've had another bad dream and that you were disturbed."

Ron guiltily peeked out of his fringe at Harry.

"So I start worrying about you. But then you come down the stairs looking like murder and then you do that weird thing with you magic and Sirius' face disappears and the lights start flickering. Ron and I follow you to wherever you were going – turns out to be Dumbledore's office yet again – and then when we come up the stairs and we find Snape on the floor, totally out of it. From the way you'd been, I think you did that to Snape."

The sudden return of silence jerked Harry out of his haze. Was it now time to answer to the charge sheet?

"Look, I was possessed, okay? Voldemort had possessed me. I didn't know I had done that. Dumbledore only told me that I had 'disposed of his interference' – I had no control of my actions."

"You-Know-You had possessed you?" Hermione gasped.

Harry could not have felt more disappointed with himself at telling them this. He nodded dolefully, averting his gaze to the floor. "I let my anger get to me, and Voldemort was already angry with... with Draco. So somehow he managed to get control of my mind then and did what he did in that room and to Professor Snape."

More silence met his words.

Hermione sighed in sympathetic frustration. "You see, Harry, I told you about keeping your anger in check. Now it got a lot of people hurt."

"You mean it killed Snape," Harry deadpanned, dragging a finger across the surface of a table with a thick patina of dust on it. He swallowed deeply.

Hermione looked shocked. "No, Harry, I didn't mean it in that way-"

"Yes, you did. Just admit it. I was angry and then knocked him out and went into the office. Then I saw Draco's parents so Voldemort saw them as well and it's because of me that they are now traitors and that they're now in danger. You want me to say it? Fine! I am the one who caused of all of this mess, okay?" Harry breathed hard through his nostrils, glaring at Hermione, his eyes becoming prickly with imminent tears as well.

"Mate, that's really not what Hermione meant-" Harry kicked a broken chair. "-Honestly, we don't blame you for anything," Ron said meekly, in an attempt to console his friend.

"It's fine. I understand. I'm the cause for all of this," Harry thundered on, "for Draco and his family being in danger, for Snape's death, for Dumbledore becoming weaker and weaker by the day, for—f—for everything that goes wrong!"

"Harry, you know that's not I meant!" Hermione shot back, her voice breaking with emotion.

Harry kicked at another chair and sent it flying to the pile of table tops in one corner.

"I'm always endangering people, always having people killed around me. First my parents, then Cedric, now Snape and soon it will be Dumbledore. Dumbledore! The greatest sorcerer alive! The only person Voldemort fears! After that Voldemort isn't going to be afraid anymore. He's going to come straight for Hogwarts – strut right through that school gate and kill everyone I know." A sob unexpectedly ripped out of his throat as he kicked at the wall below the blackboard. He scrunched his eyes shut and laid his head against the cool surface of the blackboard.

"Harry, I'm not blaming you for any of that," Hermione cried softly. "I'm just saying that you've been acting different lately and we only want to know why. I don't blame you for—for Professor Snape and I—we don't blame you for the Malfoys' situation. We're just worried about you, Harry. We're your friends – we're allowed to be."

Harry took a few moments to calm down and get a hold of himself. Afterward he slowly turned around to face his friends, the two people who have been with him through so much. He looked at each of them solemnly in the eye, one pair of conflicted chestnuts, the other sympathetic hazels.

"I think I'm starting to like Draco."

Ron's eyes bulged out of his face and his face twisted into a royal grimace. It looked exaggerated somehow, even for him...

Hermione, however, appeared the furthest thing from surprised at the declaration. The one tear that had been praying to fall, teetering on the brim of her eye, finally ran down her cheek. Strangely she gave Harry a watery smile.

Harry picked his eyes up from the floor and looked at her. He felt humiliated after laying his soul bare to be trampled on. But he swore if Ron said anything derisive in the slightest when he felt so vulnerable he was going to give him a good ol' Muggle DDT, and Ron would not know what hit him.

"Look, it's not my fault. Voldemort, he—he—he-" _Fan-bloody-tastic!_ He could not even vindicate himself here because if he did so he would expose Draco! _Dammit!_ He sighed in resignation. It was not his fault that he adored Draco—No, that he adored Draco's body – not Draco Malfoy, that snotty incorrigible ferret that had made his life a living hell! _Had_ made? Past tense? He did not make his life hell now all of a sudden? What did he make his life? Harry gulped.

Hermione looked at him proudly, ignoring his dismissible excuse. "I guess it's only understandable. You've been so worried about him. You actually went to Malfoy Manor and risked your life to save him. When did you realize?"

Harry blushed. His eyes shot to the other male in the room, looking for and expecting disgust and rejection in his face, but he could only see the underside of Ron's chin as the redhead was looking up at the ceiling with a pained look…. A flash of the underside of a chin, hanging blond hair and alabaster skin and arms around his neck… Harry closed his eyes and shook his head after being attacked by that image. If he did not feel yet that he was deep in it before, his growing erection now was certainly convincing. He was in deep waters with Draco – and in deep waters with his seemingly dwindling heterosexuality.

He did not want to answer Hermione's question – this was all very embarrassing. "We should get going to the Great Hall, you know, the food is going to finish soon."

This took both Ron and Hermione aback. Everyone knew that the food automatically replenished itself. Harry knew he was making a fool of himself. He cleared his throat and started heading for the door.

"Harry," Hermione said haltingly, while Ron resumed studying the dirty ceiling.

"Hm?" Harry said, a little irritation and panic creeping into his voice.

Hermione hesitated for a moment. "How—how—Malfoy, Harry? How did you come to like him? I thought you hated him from the beginning, since first year."

_Because I'm not the one who likes him, okay! I'm not the guilty party! I'm innocent! I was innocent before all this mess went out of control! Before Hogsmeade! Before Voldemort started getting obsessed over Draco! It's his fault! Not mine! I'm nothing like him!_

"It's complicated," he replied shortly.

Hermione surprised him by merely nodding and not pursuing further answers. Harry actually did not like this gracious concession because Hermione's brain worked a thousand miles an hour faster than that of anyone else he knew, and her silence could only mean she was drawing up her own conclusions as to why he liked Draco. That, Harry thought, was more dangerous than not telling her the simple truth. But he could not tell her even if he wanted to – he did not want to expose Draco's predicament. He just could not – no one deserved that kind of humiliation.

Harry also fleetingly thought that perhaps he now bore that humiliation in Draco's place, bearing all of this uncertainty of his orientation and these embarrassing questions in the stead of Draco's admittedly huger humiliation. He was doing something for Draco…

"Harry, there are other things we need to discuss. Ron," she said, prodding Ron out of his dull survey of the ceiling and counting its tiles. He cleared his throat, looking hesitant to eye Harry.

Harry swallowed and braced himself. "What's that?"

Hermione seemed to fight with herself, as conflicted expressions battled on her face. "Before going to sleep yesterday – this morning, I guess – I took out my Astrology charts-"

Ron snorted.

Hermione gave him a good jab and her lips tremulously curled upwards. Harry smiled at this slight return to normality, and they all shared a moment, smiling at each other and feeling an air of being reacquainted. Trust Hermione's studiousness to afford them a moment of reconciliatory humour. However, Hermione's smile, which had been refreshing for Harry to see, fell.

"And what did you find this time, Hermione?" Harry asked, sighing, expelling all traces of the amusement he had just shared with his friends, for he knew the news coming was not going to be pleasant.

"That Hogsmeade attack they were talking about in the meeting this morning," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "We have to assume the earliest time when You-Know-Who will strike, Harry. There are a hundred and ninety-two hours till the next full moon – that's eight days."

Harry stared back at Hermione, green eyes blank with despair. Ron grimaced in horror on his desk.

"You had to bring that up, Hermione," Ron grumbled.

"It had to be said, Ron!" Hermione shot back.

Harry sighed again. He should have known this would not get better, should have known it would only get worse. First the school and the rest of the Wizarding world finds out that Mr Ollivander, the old wandmaker whom had told Harry of his wand's connection to that of Voldemort, was murdered and his body found in the storeroom of his own store in a macabre travesty of honorary symbolism.

Then Harry is robbed of his due time to speak with Draco and resolve everything that had happened between them this morning. Now Hermione tells them that Voldemort might take the earliest opportunity to attack the village of Hogsmeade to turn more people into werewolves and grow the size of his army, which he intended to use for the grand event – the seizure of Hogwarts, of which Harry still was not able to process the eventuality just yet.

It was true he had realized it days before when he told Hermione about Voldemort's plan, but surprisingly it still had not been absorbed on some level. Like Ron he wanted very much to say, 'Yes, Hermione, why did you have to bring that up? Why did you have to make me even more anxious than I already am? Why did you have to make things worse by saying them, even if they are true?'

"Eight days," he rasped.

Hermione's eyes shone once more. "Eight days."

"Blimey," Ron breathed.

Harry shook his head. He did not want yet another dark aura to thicken around them so quickly again – they had had too much of that already, there had been too many of those. This could not continue.

"We'll find a way, somehow," he assured them. It was evasively vague but prudent at a time like this. He was taking lessons from his old mentor.

Hermione spoke nothing for a few seconds. She appeared ready oblige Harry's empty words with a receptive nod – she too was also tired of the tense air between them. Tired of the silences that had been plaguing them. It was time for action.

"Harry, are you ready for a DA meeting tonight?" she asked.

Harry appeared startled. "A DA meeting? But… I haven't learnt any new Defence Spells," he bleated, bemused. It was way too early. Merlin, he had forgotten about all of that. He still had Dumbledore's Army to lead.

Hermione smiled at him proudly for some reason. "Yes you have. You know how to do the Patronus Charm. It can be our first lesson – you can teach them to cast the Patronus Charm."

Harry's green eyes bulged with surging hope but a moment later lost it all. "But the Patronus Charm is for Dementors, not werewolves, Hermione!" he moaned.

Hermione shook her head, a small smile still playing on her lips. "Bright light," she said cryptically. "Bright light throws werewolves off – they can't see properly in extremely bright light and it confuses the hell out of them."

Ron's face glowed with newfound hope and pride at his friend. "Bloody brilliant, Hermione!"

There was hope. Thank Merlin for Hermione and her passionate researching.

"So we're having a DA meeting today – on the Patronus Charm," Harry declared with a grin, with a feeling that he was now being proactive in fighting for their survival, for everyone's survival. It gave him less room to blame himself, less room to wonder about what had been uncertain before. There was still hope.

"I love you guys. I want you to know that, before I can lose any of you. I love you, Hermione. I love you, Ron."

Ron looked absolutely flabbergasted for a moment before a sea of violent red crossed his whole neck and face. Harry laughed at him, as did Hermione. Harry, overwhelmed with too many emotions to stay put, leapt over to Hermione and hugged her fiercely. He wanted to say what he had just said to everybody he ever loved, before he lost th—No, before he could lose them. He wanted them to know how much they meant to him. Perhaps in the light of this Hogsmeade excursion with the werewolves that Voldemort was staging Harry felt he needed to prepare himself for war, perhaps prepare himself to lose some people, people that he loved. He would tell them that he loved and cherished them before anything could happen to them. And he was looking forward to telling this to three particular souls.

Ron joined in the hug after a hesitant moment, and they all held each other, feeling the heat of their bodies, delving into each other's beings so intimately – perhaps to memorize it, perhaps to store it for further contemplation at times when they would need to remember what it felt like to have people who cared for them.

Harry felt Ron squeeze and caress him around his pectorals. Hermione sobbed in their necks. They broke apart and looked each other in the eye soberly, smiling in each other's face. It felt reinvigorating. It felt like they were connected once again. Why had they disconnected before, Harry did not want to think about. He simply wanted to look to the forward. And for Harry, that forward – the shining, strengthening light at the moment, as they stood there and laughed with each other, was the DA and the enigma that was Draco Malfoy.

Hermione wiped her shiny face… A flash of a scrunched-up face glistening with tears and a breathy moan passing the thin, sweet lips… Harry shook his head. Ron cleared his throat and was battling to get rid of his intense flush… A few strands of white-blond hair fall over a pale face hovering in mid-air, looking down with two pinks spots on the cheeks in Dumbledore's office… Harry shook his head again.

"I want to go to the kitchen to talk to Dobby," he told his friends.

Hermione nodded. "Do you want us to come with you?"

Just as Harry began to tilt his head up in the beginning of a nod, he thought about Dobby and the elf's connection to the Malfoy household. Perhaps Dobby could—Perhaps he could... Harry's eyes lit up with a bright, green glint they had never been lit up with before. Very firmly he cut off his nod and shook his head side to side, categorically refusing any company to the kitchens.

"Er, no, it's fine," he said decisively. "I can go alone. I just want to thank him personally for getting the Order to the manor and saving – hem, hem – us."

That explained the popping sound he had heard before the Order had materialized out of nowhere and started duelling with the Death Eaters in Malfoy Manor. Harry remembered Dumbledore telling him about what Dobby had done: '...It's astounding what a fleeting mention of your name in mortal peril to a certain elf can achieve…' And then a bright twinkle from those bright blue eyes.

Harry had immediately known which elf to which Dumbledore had been referring.

"We'll be in the Great Hall then," Hermione said.

Harry nodded and they all headed out of the dilapidated classroom. Thankfully there were barely any students in the corridor as it was it lunchtime. They trotted down the hallway and then parted ways in a lighter spirits as Ron and Hermione went to the Great Hall and Harry detoured and headed down to the kitchens.

He tickled the pear in the portrait hanging on the enormous doors. It squirmed and Harry was certain it giggled before the doors creaked open, and he slipped inside warily.

"Dobby?"

There were a few clinking noises of continued activity before they fell abruptly. A hundred huge eyes stared at him from their stations motionlessly. The kitchen-elves suddenly ran headlong for him, shouting greetings and shoving countless plates into his hands. In the kerfuffle some were thrust against his shins and some into his groin, the latter of which led to him doubling over in pain and dropping all the plates he had managed to get a hold of, showering the two-feet-tall creatures with cake and bread and pies.

"Harry Potter has come down to the kitchens!" he heard a familiar squeak behind the chaos in which he found himself. The kitchen-elves looked behind at Dobby and grumbled what Harry thought were elfish expletives before they all took back their plates, cleaned the spilt over food off the floor and scurried off to resume their duties. Harry was left with pieces of food on his school robes and uniform. Before he could ask for a cloth one was thrown unceremoniously into his face, which, bearing in mind had flown with considerable speed and was a little rough, smacked him rather painfully.

"Harry Potter has come down to the kitchens to see Dobby, sir?" the familiar elf said, wearing a dirty tea cosy that looked like it has seen better days. Dobby was still wearing that sock that Harry had given him in second year to trick Malfoy senior into freeing him. It was on his left foot and looked to be stretched beyond its elastic limit: elven feet were laughably disproportionate to their bodies.

"Hi, Dobby," Harry said with a smile as he wiped globs of cream off his shoes and some streaks of marmalade off his robe.

"Harry Potter must sit." Dobby took his hand, cutting his cleaning efforts off and pulled him, nearly toppling him over, to one of the chairs on the large table the elves used for work-in-progress dishes before sending them up magically through the roof and onto the tables in the Great Hall.

Dobby offered him more food, and Harry gladly obliged.

"So good to see you, Harry Potter. Dobby has been serving Headmaster Dumbledore very well in the kitchens, and he is being paid well for it!"

Harry thought he heard a collective click of tongues amongst the other kitchen-elves, but since their backs were facing him as they washed the dishes and prepared the food, he could not be sure.

He broke off a piece of wafer sprinkled with syrup. "That's great, Dobby! Listen, I wanted to thank you for getting the Order, er, the adult wizards, to Malfoy Manor. I don't think we could have survived without them."

Dobby put his hand to his heart. "It was a pleasure for Dobby to serve Harry Potter, sir..." Dobby's ears then drooped a little, and he grew hesitant, even slightly curious. "Forgive Dobby, sir, but... when Dobby was bringing the adult wizards to the home of Dobby's previous family, sir, he saw... Master Draco... wearing... his nature suit... and Master Draco was holding onto Harry Potter as though Harry Potter would always protect him..."

Harry grew two red spots on his cheeks. He could fry raw eggs on the back of his neck, so hot it was. There was sudden silence after Dobby's words. Harry's eyes darted about from behind his fringe to see the other elves' jaws on the floor, their huge eyes gleaming with curiosity, and their previously milling hands arrested in motion from cleaning and cooking. Dobby was looking up at Harry with hesitant expectation, quivering slightly.

Battling through the intense heat in his face, the bolus in his mouth bulging his left cheek suddenly turning to iron filings, Harry managed to grumble out, "Can we talk about this somewhere private?" He cast his eyes at the quiet kitchen again. Instantly there was a round of squeakily cleared throats and the bustle of the kitchen-elves promptly commenced, with soapy water gurgling in the sinks and spaghetti being tossed high in the air, all in somewhat exaggerated vigour.

"Oh, yes, Harry Potter and Dobby can talk somewhere private," Dobby lilted with mischievous excitement which scared Harry a little.

Dobby took the liberty to take hold of his arm again and led him through the kitchens, as the other elves shot furtive glances his way, to a less populated section of the large room. Dobby directed him through a small, dim-lit corridor towards a door. He clicked his fingers and the door clicked ajar. He opened it and revealed a large pantry. Harry was led to a corner, where it was very quiet and still. Dobby then snapped his fingers again and a crate flew from another corner of the room and landed in front of Harry's heels. Harry sat down on it carefully. Dobby threw himself onto a soft sack of flour he had just magicked over.

"Dobby has found somewhere private for Harry Potter and Dobby to speak," declared the small elf, eyes wide.

Harry nodded at him and exhaled. Another, lesser blush started making itself known on his cheeks but he fought it off. "That part is a long story," he finally said, even though that long story had happened in the span of two nights.

"Dobby."

Dobby's ears had drooped at the realization that he was not going to be told about Harry Potter and the then naked Master Draco. But upon hearing his name his face shot back up and his eyes brightened again.

"Yes, sir?"

Harry hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting around the room. He licked his lips and looked down at the creature intently.

"Tell me what you remember about Draco."


	16. The King of Serpents Returns

**Chapter 16**

**The King of Serpents Returns**

Harry slapped his thighs, feeling as though his uvula was about to pop out of his gaping mouth. Tears rolled down his sore cheeks and flushed face. Who knew elves were hilarious? It was Dobby's descriptions were really funny.

"Yes, sir, he did!" Dobby screeched, his ears vibrating with hysteria as he also slapped himself but on the feet instead of the thighs, which had much more surface area. This decidedly strange action only served to fuel Harry's mirth.

"And all the other house-elves were instant blacks?" Harry laughed, throwing his head back, stomping his feet and holding onto his stomach as though it would tear apart if he did not. He was in a war between trying to make room in his lungs to force his laughter out and dragging much needed air back into them before he suffocated.

Dobby nodded vigorously as he banged his elfish fists on his sack of flour.

"_Tusho!_"

Harry cried out at the words. His limbs gave a reinvigorated attack on the surrounding furniture as he started coughing between his guffaws and beating on his chest.

"Dobby, stop! I can't breathe!" he begged the creature.

Dobby stopped sharply at the order, his limbs instantly arrested, his laugh cut off.

At this Harry stopped laughing abruptly as well. The room fell suddenly quiet.

Tearful emeralds stared into shiny gold.

Both cried out again in renewed hysteria. Harry's crate gave way and he was quickly deposited on the floor. Dobby's flour sack also gave into the pounding as puffs of white smoke billowed out and hit the elf in the face. Harry thought he was going to die! This was too much! Now Dobby was the exact opposite of what they were laughing about: he was a white elf, not a black one.

"_Tusho!_"

"Dobby!"

Dobby really was not getting that Harry was really going to die here.

"Instant black!"

And Harry really was not helping himself.

Apparently when Draco was young he used to chase the house-elves of the manor trying to cast the Cruciatus Curse on them, as was expected of him by his father. Since Draco was barely over the toddler milestone, instead of saying, "_Crucio!_" he yelled, "_Tusho!_" which would invoke a spell of Draco's invention that would splash the scurrying house-elves with a substance akin to tar, making them effectively black. This resulted in parts of the manor being ravaged by streaks and blobs of black on the floor, the curtains, along the railings, and every other surface Draco could manage to stain. So it was easy to understand Narcissa Malfoy's aesthetic frustrations. She had then asked her husband to delay teaching Draco any spells until he was old enough to pronounce them and not leave the manor in ruin.

This had Harry smiling painfully all the way to the Great Hall. His visit with Dobby was very refreshing. He felt himself breathing better and his heart beating a little lighter. And he all but skipped his way to the Great Hall, a small part of him wishing he could have shared his amusement with his friends, especially after Hermione revealed to them in that unused classroom. Entering through the large oak doors, Harry spotted Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table amongst the boisterous chatter of the other students.

His gaze, however, was then stolen by the cap of white-blond hair gleaming at the far end of the Slytherin table. Draco was eating his lunch alone – the rest of his House was inconspicuously sitting two seats away from him as was usual this year. Upon further scrutiny Harry could detect a new nervous tension amongst the Slytherins today, even from three tables away.

Playing this down as yet another development in Slytherin politics, Harry nonchalantly went over to his House table, ignoring the vehement scowls being shot his way by the Ravenclaw table, most scorching of which came from the students sitting around Cho Chang. The Hufflepuffs were giving him suggestive once-overs as some of them pathologically giggled behind their hands. Harry took his usual seat next to Ron and across from Hermione.

"How's Dobby doing?" Hermione asked as Harry started filling his plate.

Harry was wary about answering her as she had not lost a single modicum of her passion towards the cause of the alleviation of elfish slavery. "Er, he's doing okay. The other house-elves are treating him really well." _Right, Harry, more like swearing at him in their own language. Is there an elfish language?_

Hermione had her chin up, her eyes vigilant, but she relented. "Good," Hermione said curtly, after she had eyed him strictly. She buried her nose back into some other nameless tome of hers.

Harry and Ron shared amused glances but did not say anything lest they spark her off after Harry's close call. Ron bit into a marmalade sandwich Harry imagined he had been acquainted with only minutes ago. Ron's face suddenly twisted into a guilty grimace as he faced Harry.

"Harry, mate... back then... were you serious about..." Ron poked his head in the direction of the Slytherin table, trying very admirably to fight his grimace.

The question caught Harry off guard even though he had known whatever Ron would bring up would be serious as his face always scrunched up whenever he did. Harry looked away, studying his bitten chocolate cake, and cleared his throat as his cheeks burned. He gathered himself and with difficulty swallowed down the piece of cake in his mouth. He did not want to discuss this – it was too embarrassing. Why had he been so bloody careless as to admit that to his friends? Now Ron and Hermione knew he had feelings for Draco. Harry did not know which was worse anymore: the fact that the attraction was physical or that he had an attraction towards Draco in the first place.

"Can we not discuss this here?" Harry whispered to his friend, nodding indicatively at the rest of the Gryffindor table and the rest of the tables.

Ron looked more than ready to oblige Harry. He nodded in a convincingly reluctant way and resumed his usual eating pace. He looked extremely relieved.

That was a close call, Harry thought. He was not comfortable at all discussing his attraction towards Draco with another male. It was easier with Hermione, that's why he had confessed it earlier while looking at her. However, facing another red-blooded pureblood bloke was a different story – it was humiliating, embarrassing and depreciating.

Harry looked across at, well, effectively the next gay boy: five seats away and across, Seamus was being his usually cheery and talkative self, cracking Irish jokes as he bantered about with the House mates around him. However, Harry noticed within a few moments of his observation that whenever Seamus talked with Dean he appeared subtler, he spoke more quietly and with more intelligent humour as opposed to the slapstick he used for his wider audience. Dean seemed oblivious to this nuance but continued to enjoy himself in the company of friends and food.

This brought up another issue to light for Harry: rejection – or even worse, dismissiveness. And Harry knew Draco was a master at this, knew that there was no other person who could exquisitely crush you with a single glance, or lack thereof…

He truly felt conflicted. He did not want to feel so emotionally vulnerable, especially to something that he had no idea about, something he had never felt before. He now loathed Voldemort even more for making him feel this way – this had to be his fault as well. Harry shook his head before he could go into that dark hole. He did not wish to let Voldemort spoil his mood. He attacked his lunch, knowing that the bell was going to ring soon as he had spent most of his break down in the kitchens with Dobby.

From the corner of his eye he saw Dumbledore standing up to leave the Great Hall as per usual before the bell. Harry sipped on his pumpkin juice (he never enjoyed Hogsy much) and noticed that instead of heading to the door on the right, behind the High Table, Dumbledore stepped down from the dais and headed towards the Slytherin table, the train of his flowing blue robes with planets and the obligatory sprinkling of stars trailing behind him. Dumbledore laid a hand on Swagger Bloke's shoulder. This was the bloke that was most well-known to imitate Draco – his swagger, his smirk, his cutting style of disparagement towards the other Houses. None of these traits could naturally be successfully or – more incriminating to Harry – satisfactorily reproduced. By anyone.

Dumbledore's presence at the Slytherin table caused the Great Hall to grow a few decibels quieter. Harry along with the Great Hall watched as Dumbledore spoke to Swagger Bloke quietly. The boy then stood up and started following Dumbledore towards the High Table. Draco, looking mildly intrigued, gazed at Swagger Bloke as he walked off with the headmaster.

Then without warning Swagger Bloke stopped in his tracks, whipped out his wand and shrieked, "_Avada Kedavra!"_

The curse came so fast the Great Hall could barely gasp as green light illuminated the room.

Harry's glass slipped from his fingers and juice spilled on his pants. He watched in disbelief as that familiar green luminance filled the Great Hall. He barely moved.

Draco's eyes bulged incredulously before he dived out of harm's way. The professors at the High Table gasped and flew onto their feet. Dumbledore whirled around and with the speed an old man should not be allowed cast a Full Body-Binding Charm on Swagger Bloke. Harry forced himself to drag breath into his lungs again, feeling a whisper of rage.

Neither sound nor movement escaped the deafening silence in the Great Hall as everyone watched Theodore Nott fall to the floor under Dumbledore's charm. Dumbledore looked positively furious – he was glaring down at the boy at his feet silently, blue eyes blazing.

The rest of Hall was looking on with dropped jaws and terrified expressions. They had probably never even seen a Killing Curse before or one that was intended for another person at least. The Slytherins were the least reactive. They seemed shaken but not to the extent of the rest of the Hall. Only Pansy had her hand to her mouth in fear and shock.

Draco was still hiding under the desk.

Dumbledore then stooped down and collected Swagger Bloke's wand.

"Mr Nott."

All eyes went to Dumbledore, and even from three tables away, Harry could literally feel Dumbledore's rage: there was a brief spurt of shimmering magic that was quite palpable – wandless magic. Harry recalled feeling a similar sensation – a curious, sparkling sensation when Dumbledore had glared at Cornelius for a moment last year and had stepped forward to beseech him to listen to reason. That had been the closest to furious Harry had seen Dumbledore being before today.

"You attempted to cast the Killing Curse on your fellow Housemate…" Dumbledore paused, blue eyes boring into the meek figure below him. He looked beside himself.

Draco warily came to his feet, and Harry's eyes latched onto him. His grey eyes were wide with terror and he looked like he was shaking slightly. But he was intact – he was all right.

"In my capacity as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot," Dumbledore said, "I hereby relieve you of your-"

"Professor, if I may speak?" Draco interrupted, his voice managing to hold out.

The Great Hall turned to Draco silently. Dumbledore regarded him and did not speak.

Everyone watched as Draco swallowed, took a deep breath, tossed his hair and then climbed on the Slytherin table. They were still too shaken by the Killing Curse to be sceptic about Draco's actions. The Slytherins watched one of their own intently. They seemed very slightly sympathetic towards him – he had just dived out of the way of a Killing Curse.

"If Theodore Nott here was confident enough to cast the Killing Curse on me-" Draco's voice faltered just slightly. "-then perhaps he could take me on in a wizard's duel." He stared into Dumbledore's eyes with conviction.

The room was dead silent. Dumbledore remained quiet, eyes of brightest blue fixed on Draco.

"If Theodore Nott wins, you can allow him his wand back and let him continue studying here at Hogwarts, as I assume you were about to declare the opposite as punishment in the same capacity you just gloated about."

"Mr Malfoy!" gasped Professor McGonagall. The room collectively turned to her. She was looking disbelievingly at Draco, her slightly parted lips quivering with incredulity, indignation and relief that Draco was still standing, let alone talk so impertinently to his headmaster.

Dumbledore held up a hand without looking away from Draco. "It's all right, Minerva."

Harry eyed the flailing body on the floor. He glared at it. Now he knew what the person who had been spying on him looked like. Now he knew who reported to his father so that the latter could report to Voldemort about his trips to Dumbledore's office and holding Draco in the hallway on Sunday morning. It had resulted in Voldemort knowing he was in Malfoy Manor and the subsequent chase. Ultimately it was Theodore Nott's fault that Snape died, that everything went wrong that night. Perhaps Harry could now be unburdened by this.

Draco looked down at Nott. "Did you hear? Your last chance to prove yourself, Nott. Get up and face me."

Harry's mind was on overdrive. Why was Draco doing this? And how could he act so nonchalantly after nearly dying from a Killing Curse?

At the beginning of the school year Draco had seemed different, extremely withdrawn. A little further along the line Harry, together with Ron and Hermione, noticed that Slytherin House was acting hostile towards Draco – they had ousted him from their circles, which was confirmed when Parvati Patil told them that Parkinson had broken up with Draco. And judging by the way she seemed so terrified now, Harry thought she had probably been forced to do so.

Theodore Nott, Swagger Bloke, the boy with the self-esteem issues whose only talent was imitating Draco, had now attempted to get rid of him with the Killing Curse, in school no less, and Draco was now challenging him and giving him an ultimatum. This must be a House issue. Perhaps Draco was using this stunt as an opportunity to reclaim his place among the Slytherins. Perhaps Slytherins just needed to be shown raw power in order to be convinced, primitive as they were, and Draco was doing exactly that, showing that he was worthy of being in their circle. This was inter-House politics at play here – it had to be. Harry looked on, green eyes gazing ahead, body unmoving and taught, neck muscles tensed as they craned his head towards the action.

Unexpectedly Dumbledore waved his wand and Nott scrambled from the floor onto his feet, freed from the full body-bind. He fisted his hands at his sides and glared vehemently at his headmaster before turning to face Draco.

"Mr Nott," Dumbledore said, as he proffered the wand back to the boy, who snatched it out of Dumbledore's hands.

Draco, in a bored and blasé fashion, turned around and took out his wand, giving it a flick: as everyone missed Dumbledore covertly waving his wand, the plates and glasses on the table disappeared. The Slytherins, who were already impressed with Draco for interrupting Dumbledore when he had been officially speaking and saying that he had 'gloated' about one of his numerous positions, were in near ecstasy when they saw this amazing show of magical prowess. Surely a fifteen-year-old like them could just make a thousand pieces of cutlery disappear with a single, lazy flick of his wand. But it was not just any other fifteen-year-old – it was Draco Malfoy! Pansy, who had recovered from Draco's unsuccessful assassination, was looking quiet flushed, impressed by her ex-boyfriend's wandwork.

Draco's dragon-hide heels clicked sharply on the wooden table as he strutted across it to the other end, growing the distance between him and Nott. He looked extremely calm and rather bored somewhat in that usual demeanour of his. He spun around sharply and tossed his hair, waiting impatiently for Nott to climb onto the table.

Draco raised an immaculate eyebrow at the boy. "I assume you know how to duel, yeah?" he drawled.

A few snorts of amusements sounded from the Gryffindor Table while Slytherin merely remained eerily silent and extremely observant.

Dumbledore looked down at Theodore Nott carefully.

"Mr Nott, having been able to cast a Killing Curse on Mr Malfoy here, I'm sure you can handle your would-be victim in a wizard's duel." He gave the boy a thin smile. His face quickly sharpened, however. "But I warn you: dare to cast another Unforgivable-"

"Dumbledore, honestly, you're wasting our time – or my time, more importantly," Draco drawled. "I would really like to put Mr Nott here in his place, today if I can." He waved his hands dismissively. "Go... play with your papers or... braid your beard or something."

Naturally a pin drop could be heard in the Great Hall after these words. But a few giggles bubbled from the Slytherin table. Some of the Slytherins were shooting assessing looks at Draco from below. McGonagall did not look far from fainting.

"Well?" Draco urged. "Get up on the table – I haven't all day. Some of us do exist with a purpose, you know."

Nott, suddenly looking small after Dumbledore moved away from him, stared at his wand, up at Draco and then at his fellow Slytherins who had always looked down at him and dismissed him. His lips pursed and he stomped onto a chair and up onto the table, glaring murderously at Draco.

Without knowing it Harry was slowly lifting off his seat, his eyes watching Swagger Bloke very carefully. He did not like that unhinged look in his eyes. Harry's instincts were screaming at the moment.

Hermione looked on at this with a knowing purse to her lips as though she were thinking, 'See what happens when people with low confidence levels and self-esteem finally act out?'

The Great Hall remained silent and motionless as the students and teachers watched Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott standing on the Slytherin House table, wands drawn, about to be in a wizard's duel.

Dumbledore was returning to his seat at the High Table, the professors behind which seated themselves again.

The rest of Slytherin House were watching the pair avidly, but many eyes were on Draco. Blaise Zabini had a small, proud-looking smirk on his lips. Crabbe and Goyle were gaping up at Draco in silent worship. Pansy was downright grinning up at Draco's sleek form.

Silence all across…

Harry watched Draco with bated breath.

Draco and Nott stared at each from across the table.

The bell for the end of lunchtime rang.

"_Tortus!_"

Harry leapt to his feet.

Draco gracefully sidestepped the spell, his white-blond hair whooshing as the orange-yellow spell flew past.

"_Reducto!_" cried Draco.

Nott screeched and ducked down, the white-blue spell careening above him.

Draco started strutting towards Nott down the table. "You see, Nott, you have a huge flaw – several, in fact." He struck down Nott's second Torture Curse with a casual wand wave without stopping, vastly unperturbed by Nott using very Dark magic indeed.

"You lack confidence."

"_Confringo Malavera!_" Nott bellowed furiously, his voicing breaking horribly.

Draco sent the spell on its merry way with a single movement. His eyes bore into Nott.

"You lack recognition."

"_Diabolus Inflammare!_"

Draco struck it down with a flick of his wand and the spell was banished to the wall.

"And the most unforgivable of all: you lack subtlety."

"_CRUCIO!_" cried Nott, and a tear slipped from his eye.

Orange fire blasted out of Nott's wand and flew towards Draco.

Harry gasped.

Draco swerved to the side and simultaneously fired a simple spell in a soft voice that bore a ring of finality to it.

"_Stupefy._"

An enraged, crying, emotional Nott fell from the table to the floor, and his wand flew in a graceful arc into Dumbledore's hand.

Draco's bag flew over to him. He jumped off the table and swept out of the great doors just as the cracking noise of a wand being officially broken was heard.

The King of Serpents had returned.

* * *

One of Theodore Nott's curses did not sit well with Harry. It set his teeth on edge, raised the hairs on the back of his neck… It was not normal. Already on his feet, as he had nearly crossed the Great Hall and jumped into the duel between Draco and Nott as the latter was making heavy use of what felt like Dark magic, his attention was drawn to the wall on which Draco had deflected the _Diabolus Inflammare_ spell.

Even as he stood tall, ravenous flames were rapidly climbing up the wall and leaping onto the tables, which, to Harry's best knowledge, should not be possible for natural fire – fire did not leap across air and bricks are not flammable. The obvious answer was that, as Voldemort's fire was back in Malfoy Manor, this was no ordinary fire. It was Dark Arts.

Sudden shrieks could be heard from the end of the Slytherin table nearest the lit wall. Students started screaming and scampering away as the fire spilled onto the floor as if it were water, or burning oil, and long tendrils of fire threw themselves against the ceiling like the surging tentacles of a gigantic flailing octopus.

Chaos erupted. Kids darted across the Great Hall, crashing into each other as they attempt to escape chortling Chimeras – small, mischievous monsters of fire – lunged at them from every direction. The Great Hall was rapidly turning into an inferno. The fire was spreading too rapidly…

Dumbledore's voice boomed across the blazing Great Hall. "Prefects, lead your Houses out of the Hall with the aid of the Aguamenti Charm! All students are to cast the Aguamenti Charm to carve out a route to the doors!"

Dumbledore and the other professors at the High Table promptly whipped out their wands and began attacking the fire. Ron, Harry and Hermione led the terrified first-years towards the exist, dousing down dozens of hopping and running sphinxes and fiends and swaying tentacles of fire with gallons of water, sweat dripping from their foreheads. Hagrid lumbered in circles as he shot a powerful stream of water from his pink umbrella and swore angrily at a rather stubborn fiery fiend giggling and diving out of his aim.

The Slytherins were running every which way and screaming their heads off. Self-preservation knew no flair – it only demanded perpetuation. And the Ravenclaws unsurprisingly were the most composed and efficient of all the students in attacking the fire and inching towards the exit, though they hardly looked any less terrified. But gradually the students in the burning Hall gradually emptied out to the outside.

Professor Slughorn entered the Great Hall from the side door behind the High Table, and upon seeing the infernal chaos in the room, swore at Merlin and his toenails before he swiftly slipped back in through the same door from which he had emerged seconds earlier.

The balls of fire leapt on the chairs, on the table, scampered across the walls and tore down the House banners, ashen pieces of green cloth melting off and falling to the floor. And dark purple smoke billowed out into the hallway outside. The entire Great Hall was one huge burning cauldron.

Harry, entirely unaware of his soiled pants, was desperately shouting at and directing the small first- and second-years to the doors along with a few of his Housemates. Colin Creevey was clutching onto his thigh for dear life as Harry shot Aguamenti on a fire snake that had made a swift leaping strike down at them from a burning Ravenclaw banner. He did not even want to contemplate on what would have happened had his spell not be true.

Scores of shrieking teenagers squeezed through the massive doors of the Great Hall. The fire inside left ruin and blackness in its wake as some patches of fire rebelled against the torrents of water directed at them by the prefects and professors, who did so as they slowly backed out towards the doors, draining the Great Hall of occupants. Eventually most of the fire was put out. Thick, purple fumes unfurled skyward as children held onto each other, horrified, shaken expressions on their soot-smeared faces.

Dumbledore was the last to emerge out of the Hall, pacing backwards and spelling away the last embers of the Dark fire, followed beside him by Nott's Levitated and Stupefied body. Finally he lifted Nott, whose face was blazing scarlet in embarrassment rather than heat from the fire, through the doors and above the distraught crowd.

"Albus," breathed McGonagall with a hand to her chest as she stood in front of her House as other professors did except Slughorn, "that was a rather vehement fire! And the Great Hall is in ruin!"

"Indeed, Minerva," Dumbledore replied gravely. "That was no ordinary fire." He turned towards the traumatized students crowded in the hallway. "Students, if any of you suffer from any injuries, please visit the infirmary. Otherwise you can proceed to your House common room. Lessons are cancelled."

This was why Harry was to be found sitting with Ron and Hermione in the Gryffindor common room minutes after the horrible episode in the Great Hall occurred. Seamus, Dean, Ginny, Parvati, her friend Lavender and Neville Longbottom sat around with them in front of the fireplace. Despite the unnatural fire that had broken across the Great Hall they were all still disturbed by the Killing Curse they had witnessed. It brought to terrifying relief the eventuality of war. It was a taste of what was to surely come.

"That was one bloody fire!" Ron breathed, awe-struck by how fast it had spread and the nasty little fire creatures it had spawned.

"It was awesome, that was!" Seamus echoed.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione berated. "That fire nearly destroyed the Great Hall! It would have been a tragic thing considering the wonderful history behind it!"

It was clear no one was in the mood to hear passages from _Hogwarts, A History_, so when Parvati quickly inserted her opinion gratitude shone in their faces.

"Did you guys see Malfoy? Forget that weird fire – I think he was the hottest thing in that room today!"

Seamus just barely held himself from bursting out, 'Jeanie Mac, he was deadly sizzling!' Hermione's eyes swiftly shot to Harry as Ron grimaced at Parvati's comment. Neville seemed clueless, and Dean rather thoughtful.

"Mm, Parvy, I know," purred Lavender. "When he was strutting down that table with that look in his eyes my knees were shaking!"

Seamus and Harry turned bright red.

"And that thing he did with his wand!" Parvati exploded. "The bloke can work it!"

"Excuse me, ladies, but I thought this conversation was open to the rest of us!" Ron complained to the gushing friends indignantly.

Parvati and Lavender threw him dismissive looks before resuming their public conversation. "Were you watching that cow Parkinson? She could barely stop drooling on the table," Parvati deadpanned scornfully, rolling her eyes.

"Looking up at him like they were going to get back together again after this," Lavender clucked disdainfully.

Hermione cleared her throat very forcefully, clearly up to her limit with all this tripe, though she could have been doing it for a different reason because her eyes shot to Harry, who was blushing wildly. Remember when Nott shot that spell? I think he said, '_Diabolus Inflammare_.' That has to be Dark magic. I think it was Fiendfyre."

This silenced the sitting area: not one of them, it seemed, could respond to this since they were not as studiously inclined as Hermione to have anything to contribute but were rather more interested in Parvati and Lavender's conversation.

"I wonder why he did that…" Dean piped up, unwittingly becoming the diplomat between the two disparate moods of intellectual inquiry and gossipy frivolity.

"Obviously Malfoy wanted to show Slytherin that he was still boss, and a feisty boss at that!" Parvati said, and she and Lavender fell into a fit of girlish giggles.

"Malfoy is an arrogant git!" Ron shot heatedly, now looking thoroughly irritated by Parvati and Lavender. "How dare he talk to Dumbledore like that?" He cut himself off abruptly when his eyes landed on Harry. His face grimaced apologetically and he sank down into his seat.

Parvati and Lavender seemed reluctant to agree with Ron.

"And what about that other spell Nott used?" Hermione pushed on. "'_Tortus_,' it was. That could be a Dark Spell as well."

Harry was idly listening to his Housemates talk about the fire and Malfoy's – Draco's appearance. His Housemates using Draco's last name made him think about when Draco became 'Draco' in his mind.

He could not remember.

He had really wanted to go and talk to the elusive blond but that damned fire had its own ideas. God, he had been scared beyond his wits when he heard that familiar incantation of the Killing Curse. He was so familiar with it but it still shook him to the core, especially when he saw who its target was. There was something evil even in the way the spell was invoked, with all those hard, sharp letters. He could not believe a mere student was brave enough to cast an Unforgivable curse in school, right in front of Dumbledore.

He had been most embarrassed when Hermione had furtively mouthed, "Your pants!" and when he had looked down it looked as though he had wet himself. While squeezing through the other students towards Gryffindor Tower he had closed his school robes and, as soon as they had reached the common room, ran straight up to the dormitory to go put on a clean pair of pants.

"Swagger Bloke's in for it! A bloody Unforgivable in the middle of the Great Hall, and right in front of Dumbledore!" Ron said joyfully, echoing Harry's thoughts. "I mean how thick can you get?"

The others made noises of agreement. "Broke his wand," Dean observed.

The group collectively grimaced with a minute twinge of sympathy for Nott on that part, and several hands founds their owners' wands for reassurance. When a wizard's wand was broken it was only in exceptional circumstances that he practiced magic again thereafter. Otherwise he would be the same as a Squib, only that his life would be torturous as he would still retain his inherent magic but could not legally manifest any longer.

Unsympathetic, however, Hermione nodded firmly and pursed her lips with the satisfaction of justice at their concerned faces. "And the Wizarding world doesn't have a juvenile prison – that means he's going straight to Azkaban."

"'Juvenile prison'?" Ron said, with a bemused frown at Hermione.

"Prison for minors," Hermione explained.

But Ron's frown did not vanish, which was likely because he, as many people who lived all their lives in the Wizarding world did, was familiar with the absolute circumstances of there being only one prison and none for in-between ages.

Harry finally got up. He could not sit here anymore – he wanted answers; he wanted reassurances; he wanted closure. He wanted Draco. He could not be ignored forever. He could not be stopped forever.

"I'm just going to lie down for a while," he told them, with strong eye contact on Hermione after she sharpened when he stood up. He minded their legs as he crossed the floor and bounded up the stairs to boys' dormitory. He went over to his bed and dropped himself on it with robes, glasses, shoes and all.

He felt weary – today had been impossibly taxing. Harry was extremely thankful Dumbledore had cancelled the afternoon lessons because technically he had been at Malfoy Manor and gone through that whole drama in the same day. And right now that was taking its toll. The roughly five hours of sleep he had gotten were not nearly enough, not nearly. He felt his eyelids droop already and his body sunk further into the bed as it felt to sink into itself. This happened whenever he was particularly overwhelmingly exhausted.

He thought about the reason he had come up here. Should he just rather submit to the sleep that was luring and reeling him in? Right now it felt so good... Then a seemingly external force shot him in the back and reared him from the bed spontaneously. It was one of those times he surprised himself when he stretched his limits, did something beyond what he thought was capable… Harry blinked slowly and wearily climbed off the bed. Draco.

He crossed the floor to his trunk and exhaustedly fought to find purchase of the hooks on the lid and finally lifted it. After pushing the contents aside he caught the brown aging map, pulled it out of the sandwich of books between which he had hidden it, unfolded the parchment and searched its surface.

Who knew the Marauder's Map could even show the dungeons? There he was – Draco Malfoy. There was something regal or special about the way his name appeared. Or perhaps it was Harry merely becoming dizzy with tiredness or perhaps he was too enthralled with the Slytherin to see clearly now and he was adding flourishes and attractive cursive lines where they were not there. And he could spot the name amidst a legion of other overlapping labels. The King of Serpents was back indeed if he could just sit around the other Slytherins in the common room as the map reported him doing, because Harry thought he had likely been isolating himself in his exclusive Prefect's room since term began.

How was he going to get Draco alone? Would he wait until Draco finally went up there? When would that would be? This was all a bad idea and he knew it. He lifted his eyes from the map and laid them on his bed. Yes, sleep really did sound attractive at the moment. He blearily looked back down at the map again. He wanted to ask and tell Draco a few things. But they could wait, could they not? It had only been hours since they were in Malfoy Manor, only hours since Snape died, only hours since he held that bare, warm body close to him, hours since he had conceived such a fierce protectiveness over Draco. It could wait. He could sleep now. It could wait...

Harry slammed the lid shut and out of his rucksack pulled out his Invisibility Cloak, draped it around him, the map still clutched in his hands, and slipped out of the dormitory.

It could not wait.


	17. Vanishing Veneers

**Chapter 17**

**Vanishing Veneers**

He slowly and carefully descended the stairs, concentrating on Hermione most, remembering her effort yesterday to keep him from going to Dumbledore's office. He crossed the common room tentatively. He saw Dean with his arm around Ginny, who was laying her head on his shoulder. Seamus looked agitated for some reason. Neville sat meekly amongst the group, merely existing. Parvati and Lavender Brown rambled spiritedly at each other, the obligatory girly sounds and dismissive hand gestures aplenty. Hermione was keeping an intense of the stairs he had just descended. She should honestly stop trying to involve herself in everything – it was starting to irritate him, Harry thought in annoyance.

He all but tiptoed to the portrait hole under his Invisibility Cloak, the Marauder's Map folded in his sweaty hand, and sneaked out of the common room successfully.

He could breathe again, and Hermione had not the whimsical idea to block the portrait hole with her body again as she had done yesterday.

Harry thought he was crazy for many reasons right then as he ran down the empty corridor. He was going to the Slytherin dungeons, snake territory, for the second time in his life. There was no telling if he would return whole if he returned at all. The school had just survived a Dark fire in the Great Hall and some were even still recovering from smoke inhalation in the hospital wing. What was more, it had been mere hours ago since he had saved Draco from Voldemort's clutches. Yes, he certainly should re-evaluate himself – or Hermione would do that for him.

Harry opened his Marauder's Map again and sought out the floating label of Draco Malfoy.

* * *

"Pansy, for Merlin's sake, can I breathe? I want to go upstairs – excuse me."

"Oh, Dracy, come on-"

"How many times do I have to tell you I don't you like you calling me that?"

Draco was leaving – or attempting to leave – the Slytherin common room, but Pansy was whining and hanging on his arm. The other seated Slytherins chatted in hushed tones among themselves. Some smirked in Draco and Pansy's direction in a way that made Harry's blood curdle. Crabbe and Goyle sat in a corner of their own and entertained themselves with a cache of muffins and scones from the lunch hour. Harry, who was sweating slightly after navigating the elaborate Slytherins dungeons, believed that amidst the terrible fire that had ravaged the Great Hall these two goons had made sure to save some treats before screaming out with their loot.

He really did not want to consider further the rest of the other Slytherins gathered in the common room even remotely – they intimidated him, if he were to be honest with himself. This was understandable as he was literally in the territory of potential Death Eaters-in-training with vast repertoires of Dark Arts spells. Apart from this, the Slytherin common room harboured many shadowy corners and was lit only by dim green light from some strange structures resembling large, green pebbles, giving the room an eerie, underwater-like and isolated feel.

Disgruntled at the reminder of the coldness of the dungeons, Harry skittered towards his targets under his Invisibility Cloak. Bloody perfect. Harry had not thought about the Parkinson factor. _Stupid cow._ Now he likely had to wait for her to get away from Draco. And suddenly Harry encountered a new feeling he did not think he would ever encounter in his life when he saw Pansy draped all over Draco upon entering the common room. Trying to quell it even as he reeled from it, he soundlessly followed the two Slytherins to Draco's private room – hopefully.

Careful in being as silent as he could manage on the harsh, flagstone floor of the dungeons, especially since it was likely things echoed in here, he stealthily sneaked behind his two targets – one target actually, the other was an ugly nuisance. All that he could distinctly see in the large, dim green-lit dungeon was the back of Draco's platinum-blond hair falling over his back and Pansy's dirty-blond mop. The pair was ascending the staircase, which had dark, almost black, wooden banisters and railings a rough, grey stone stairs. The individual railings were shaped like winding snakes. Pansy was petulantly whining and whispering things into Draco's ear, but the aristocrat seemed to be having none of it. Harry knew nothing else more satisfying than seeing this.

The couple veered to the right and walked down a long, narrow corridor lined with doors on each side. Harry kept up with them. He ventured a quick look at the mass of students downstairs and saw them eyeing the two he was following very intently. The walls were dark slate and looked harsh and unwelcoming. The three of them turned another corner and entered into a short, empty hallway leading to a single door.

"Draco, you know I had no choice, my dragon…"

Draco's head tilted up sharply in what Harry thought was a gesture of irritation. The two stopped walking and Draco turned to her and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Pansy was doing the entire disgusting act: lips pouting, eyes brimming with tears and eyelashes fluttering not-so-coyly. Harry did not know whether he wanted to gag or slap the bitch.

"I told you to stop using that name!" Draco hissed. "What are you doing here anyway? I said I was tired and wanted to sweep a few clouds!"

Pansy did something with her neck and shoulders to make herself look vulnerable or attractive or something – it made Harry shudder. Draco was eyeing the girl dispassionately. Harry grinned.

"It's not as though you're back all up there on the top, you know," Pansy reminded Draco nastily. "You still have a lot of ground to cover-" She rubbed Draco's shoulder and the boy's neck muscles jumped. "-and you need someone like me to put you back up there, where you belong."

Draco inhaled patiently, visibly struggling to stay calm. "Pansy, I just want to take a nap," he said slowly. "We can talk about this later." He brought his ring to a cavity in the doorknob and the door clicked. He yanked the door open and slipped inside. Relentless, Pansy followed him in. Harry quickly tiptoed through the door, barely making inside when Pansy snapped it shut. _Cow._

He inched aside and crouched in the corner between the wall and Draco's wardrobe. The Prefect's room was large, neat, and simply elegant. It was much less cold but there still survived a slight chill that was just about comfortable. On Harry's right stood an ornate mahogany escritoire on top which were a few piles of books and parchment. Adjacent to it was a tall, rather jarringly spartan bookcase with old-looking tomes populating its shelves. Beside Harry on his left rose a huge, two-door wardrobe stretching to the ceiling.

And lastly, in the furthest corner from him was another door presumably leading to the bathroom. And yet on the wall between that door and the escritoire hung a contraption that resembled a basin, less the taps. In their places was a small brass container. Above the basin was a square depression into the wall. On the floor of this chamber rested a clump of logs. Harry thought prefects got all the luxuries. The Prefect's bathroom in which he had taken a bath the previous year during the Triwizard Cup Tournament had also been impressive.

He watched as Draco slid off his shoes and school robes and fell back tiredly on the large bed behind him. This reminded Harry of his own exhaustion and suddenly the air under his Invisibility Cloak got warm and dizzying. Pansy sat down next to Draco, which caused Harry to sit up rather quickly.

"Why don't you want to talk to me?" Pansy asked petulantly.

Draco released a frustrated sigh. "Pansy, if you bothered to listen to my words, you'd know that it is not that I don't want to talk to you but the fact that I'm exhausted and I want to sleep. Do you understand that? I have just survived certain death!"

Harry saw Pansy's hand land on Draco's thigh and rub it.

"DON'T TOUCH ME! I DON'T WANT TO BE BLOODY TOUCHED!"

Pansy fell backwards on her back by the force of the enraged Slytherin's bellow. Draco glared furiously at the girl as she sat up on her elbows, his grey eyes glittering. A moment of ringing silence past before he said in a soft but menacingly calm, almost unhinged voice, "Get out."

Pansy stared disbelievingly at Draco for a few seconds, gaping and looking positively shaken. She jumped to her feet and tearfully extracted herself from the room. Her version of 'tearful' looked different somehow, Harry observed as he caught a glimpse of Pansy's face before she thundered past him out the door. After the door clicked shut behind her, it was Harry and Draco alone in his room. Harry was glad of the girl's absence – it complicated things and she made him feel these foreign emotions that were a little frightening to him; he had never experienced jealousy in this way before.

Draco kept his defensive and furious position for a few seconds. His eyes were wide and mad, glowering, his fists clenched on either sides, his lips pursed into two, thin strips of shell-pink flesh. Then Harry watched as Draco's eyes wandered to the floor, watched as his fists relaxed, and as the boy sunk into his bed. Harry wandered if he should stay concealed for a few moments longer just to watch Draco a little longer.

After a while Harry thought Draco had fallen asleep on the bed, since Harry could not see him from his crouching position on the floor and the bed was a very large, emerald-quilt four-poster. Just as he was about to step forward and then do Merlin knew what else, Draco shifted and Harry saw the blond cap of his head peeking up from the edge of the bed. Harry remained still.

Draco slowly rose from the bed and came around it. A wave of arousal hit Harry's groin as he saw Draco walk past with his socked feet. Just the idea of witnessing Draco unguarded like this, or perhaps simply just seeing Draco. He now wore just his satin school shirt and his grey pants. His wand lay across his belt near his right hip, secured by a wide loop of leather – possibly an extension of the belt itself, a Wizarding belt, perhaps. Harry licked his dry lips and did not blink as Draco swept past with... a limp... and pulled the chair of a dresser that had been hidden to Harry by the wardrobe's ostentatious size. Draco plopped down on the chair in front of the tall three-part mirror. Befuddled by the sudden limp in Draco's walk, Harry decided to approach the dresser softly. He crouched just behind Draco's left side, peering over his shoulder at the blond boy staring at himself in the mirror.

His hands resting limply on his lap, Draco sat still as he fixedly stared at the image of himself in the mirror. Harry watched Draco with him in the mirror. Harry grasped the edges of his Invisibility Cloak and…

Just before Harry revealed himself he saw something strange in the mirror. He stopped. Leaning in closer to Draco's shoulder, he saw a strange process occur: dark, ghastly shadows rapidly appeared under Draco's eyes. His face became haggard within the space of a few seconds as though he had returned from Azkaban yesterday. The boy generally looked paler, gaunt and much older than he was. Harry was utterly flabbergasted. What the…? What is this? A a travesty of a Cinderella tale? What magic was this…?

Then, when Draco dropped his head in his hands and a sob escaped his lips, Harry understood.

He was looking through the veneer.

He was looking through the front, the appearance, the act. Inside these four walls Draco could drop all those things and remain naked in front of himself. Harry watched the blond boy with swirling green eyes, and he knew not how to feel about seeing Draco like this. Draco was silent as his hands covered. For the day, and possibly since Sunday, he had been using some sort of magic, Harry realized, to make himself look as he usually did, before Hogsmeade, before everything started falling apart. He had been concealing the physical marks of his torment. Draco was not all right – he might not even be coping. Harry, in a stupidly impulsive move as only patentable by him, removed his Cloak and approached the boy he had rescued from Voldemort's spidery clutches.

The Cloak lay on the floor, the Marauder's Map covered under it as Harry stood next to Draco, his hand outstretched, so ready to touch that platinum-blond hair that had hid Draco's handsome face.

Harry wondered about all the things Draco could be thinking about, all the things that could be affecting him: his family was on the run, he had twice been forced to be a sex toy for a reincarnated, snaky excuse of a human being, and he had lost his Head of House just hours ago. Draco had lost a lot.

In the still silence of the room, Harry's commiserative swallow was clearly and fatally audible. Draco's head shot up, and in the infinitesimal duration of that moment – tearful, eruptive, unguarded, emotional, raw silver stared nakedly into widened emeralds. Harry knew this was the most he had ever seen of Draco, and it would probably be the last. A rare glimpse, never to be captured again. So sweet, so wrong, so cruel. Draco suddenly flew backwards in shock and landed on his bottom on the now smooth floor.

"Draco," Harry whispered in surprise, arms outstretched in proffered aid. His feet were unable to decide whether to approach the boy or not.

Draco watched him from the floor, his hands bracing him from the floor, grey eyes wide and beyond belief, face flushed. His parted lips were with a slight tremor and so were his arms. He was stunned beyond words.

"Potter," an almost inaudible gasp finally came. The Slytherin's eyes subsequently shot to the material lying on the floor a few feet from them. His eyes darted back to Harry. Draco slowly stood up as he wiped away his tears and tried to hide a grimace, but Harry noticed it. Draco stood to his full, equally meagre height and turned murderous eyes on Harry.

"How dare you," he hissed in soft accusation.

"Draco, look, I'm sorry-"

"After I extend you the courtesy of giving you back your genuine Invisibility Cloak, which I should have kept by all means, you use it to spy on me?" Draco was speaking very calmly but it was quite clear this was far removed from what was happening behind those mercurial eyes.

Harry felt immensely guilty and sick with himself right now. Draco was right – it was not proper to sneak up to somebody like this.

"I…" said Harry breathlessly. "Look, I just wanted to-"

Draco covered his face with his hands again. "Potter, what are you doing in my bedroom?" he asked, cutting across Harry in a smooth but tired voice without vehemence this time.

Harry looked at the distraught boy barely holding himself together. "I wanted to talk," he answered in a resolute voice.

Draco remained still for a moment, gazing at Harry through the grill of his fingers. He uncovered his face and stared at him. His eyes were still shiny with tears and his face a little flushed from crying.

"Talk," he commanded.

Harry nodded hesitantly, licking his lips. "Just talk."

Draco watched him for a moment, making as though this was the most outlandish thing he had ever heard in his life. He wiped his face clean of tears, strode nonchalantly past Harry and sat down gracefully on the edge of his bed, crossing his leg over the other and folding his arms. Harry knew this was a measure to impose some control over the situation, and it almost convinced him except for the slight hesitation in Draco's gaze at him.

"So you suppose that after rescuing me from the manor and borrowing me your Invisibility Cloak, you have every right to sneak up on me and then interrogate me in the comfort of my own room?" Draco shook his head, looking appalled. "Wow, Potter, you never cease to amaze me." He remained artistically still in his posture, his grey eyes boring into Harry now without the hesitation they had held.

"Draco-" Draco flinched. "-I'm not doing this because I think you owe me anything. I rescued you because I wanted to—because I saw how-" Harry stopped himself.

Draco's jaw worked for a moment as he closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes and continued staring at him in that eerily still posture of his, grey eyes blank and boring into Harry once more. Harry cursed himself for mentioning it, but this was what they needed to talk about.

_Why, Harry? Draco's not your obligation – you don't need to talk about anything. It's done. The damage has been dealt. Yours is to look ahead and not look back. You have nothing to gain. You have nothing owed to you, nothing to collect. Draco doesn't owe you anything. _

Harry walked over to the bed, ignoring Draco's glare which he guessed was elicited by his daring to contemplate sitting on his bed next to Draco. As he sat, a muscle in Draco's neck jumped again and he rolled his shoulder against his cheek in a discomfited way. Harry surmised that Draco probably was not too inclined to people touching him or being too close to him after experiencing what he did in that room with Voldemort in Malfoy Manor. Harry should have known the experience would not be contained there, that there were some things that were to be carried over, some vestiges – memories, nightmares, fears… feelings, affection, protectiveness, want...

"Draco-" Draco flinched again.

"What happened to my bloody surname?" Draco muttered irritably.

This hurt Harry – it was a slap in the face. Malfoy simply did not sound right on his tongue anymore – it never would again.

"Malfoy," he said slowly, testing the name out as though he had not been using it ever since he stepped into Madam Malkin's. But he found he could not do this with this... inhibitor – the name barred so many things. It smothered so much space so easily. He could not say the things he wanted to say using it. He refused. "What's wrong with calling you Draco?"

"It's disturbing," Draco deadpanned.

Harry saw red. Apart from Draco's infuriating attitude was the fact that Harry was half hard right now just for bloody sitting next to the ungrateful git!

"Look here!" he spat. "I've seen you naked more than a few times and I've even seen you dance naked. I basically had... mind sex with you the whole time, and you want me to call you Malfoy? Hardly, Draco!"

His own words surprised him almost as much they did Draco, who looked stunned.

"Draco, I'm sorry – I shouldn't ha-"

Draco's hand zapped down to his wand. Instincts taking over, Harry jumped on him. Draco fell backwards and the two boys tousled on the bed. Harry did not the expression on Draco's face, one of being violated and vulnerable. He did not like the untimely and desperate pants and the half-heartedness of Draco's struggles. Soon Harry had Draco's hand pinned down together with his wand, aimed away from him. He did not want to fight Draco – he had not come here for that.

As they were Harry's left arm was holding down Draco's right hand, which was fisted around his wand. Harry's right arm was holding down Draco's left hand. Harry thighs and legs were clenched around Draco's so the other boy could not flail.

"What do you want from me, Potter?" Draco snarled as he struggled against him.

Harry blinked to clear his watering eyes. Why was Draco affecting him so much? Did Draco not understand he was not here to hurt him, that he was not the enemy? Draco shouting at Pansy not to touch him must have stemmed from his abuse from Voldemort. Draco did not want people touching him, and Harry was doing exactly that.

"I told you I just want to resolve some things! I don't want to fight you, Draco." His voice dropped. "I don't want to hurt you." Even lower. "I don't want you to hurt anymore…"

Draco's chest rose rapidly against Harry's and fell back down. His watery, silver eyes glared back at him with so many emotions trying to remain concealed but failing.

Harry's face… Merlin, help him… hovered inches above Draco's own. Harry could feel Draco's breath coming fast onto his own and could tell that Draco had eaten something with cinnamon in it for lunch. Draco's white-blond hair was thrown and spread out on the dark-green duvet and some strands were covering his face. His cheeks were flushed from exertion when they had wrestled and from heat of the moment.

Most unforgivably, Harry was now fully erected: his fully-fledged erection was pressing into Draco's groin. And seemingly at the same time Harry swore at himself internally for it, especially when it was clear the other boy was so emotionally vulnerable right now, Draco's eyes grew wide and his limbs started fighting more fiercely than ever for their freedom.

"You sick fuck!" Draco screamed. "Get away from me! Get away from me!" Draco's voice broke horribly. "You're the bloody same as he is..." A few tears slipped from his eyes and rolled off the side of his face.

Harry could not damn himself enough for this, and he could not blame Draco for what he said… But Harry continued to firmly hold onto the other boy's wrists and legs.

"Look, Draco, I'm not here to hurt you, okay? I want to explain a few things and get some answers! I can explain... this..." He was referring to his monstrous erection. It was humiliation and self-ignominy as he had never felt before. How he went from straight to... here... in less than thirty-six hours, he did not know, but so much can happen in thirty-six hours…

Draco's body let up again as he realized his struggles were futile. He was breathing hard and looked as small and frightened as a child in foreign care. "What's there to explain?" he growled, his compressed lips quivering.

Harry looked down at him, through his fine strands of hair, into accusatory mercury. He blew back a few silver-blond locks, which made Draco squint against his breath, his thin lips pursing, and his chin clenching. Harry was so close he could see everything on Draco's face. Draco was beautiful, despite those tainting dark rims, despite that shocked pallor. _Face so flawless, artistic, blemish-less, pale – an artist's aspiration to capture; lips, small, thin, and shell pink – a drawer's dream to design on canvas._

"So many things, Draco," Harry whispered to him, gazing down at him, overwhelmed with so many different feelings, for Draco and for himself.

Draco glared up at him, still rebellious, still with every appearance wanting to fight and deny, but suddenly his chest deflated and his face cleared. It was unexpected remission.

"I just want to sleep, okay?" Draco pleaded. "I haven't been able to. I can't sleep... keep seeing—thinking about it, about everything... I just want to sleep... I'm just so tired..."

Green eyes turned shiny. Harry swallowed against a lump in his throat. "Me too, Draco. I also want to sleep." _I'm also tired. I also want to just slip away, forget it all, rest my aching body, rest my aching mind…_

Harry's numerous holds on Draco unknowingly relented, but Draco did not struggle any further. His grey eyes looked up at him, their sharpness fading, their accusation dying, and their plea for peace surfacing.

"You can sleep, Draco, I'm here. I'll be with you if you want. I'll wake you up if you have nightmares. I won't leave you... if you want..."

Silver marbles were slowly retreating, slowly giving up trust, slowly giving in to promised respite... And with a final tear running down the side of his face, Draco's eyelids closed, and oblivion finally obliged him.

Harry sniffed, and a smile evaded all conscious volition and spread itself across his face.

"Sleep, Draco."

Harry released a deep and exhausted sigh. He lay down on Draco and let his head rest next to Draco's. The last thing he felt was white-blond hair tickling his face.

Harry slept.

* * *

Two bodies slept on the large, emerald-quilt bed, one on top of the other. The one at the bottom remained eerily still in sleep as though peacefully dead, while the one on top randomly turned and shifted.

Harry's shoes were slicing into Draco's socked feet. His nose was being tickled by the strands of white-blond hair, causing him to move his head interminably. His arms were wrapped around Draco's torso protectively.

The two boys slept on obliviously

Two o'clock passed. Three, four...

They were both tired, so very tired. They had suffered the wrath of the Dark Lord's immorality: Draco – broken, tainted, forever changed – had nightmares of rape and torture. Harry – innocent, wronged, forever changed – had dreams of affection and protection.

Harry shifted and swallowed in his sleep.

_...Large bed donned with a silk, emerald quilt..._

…_Large fussy crest with the name Malfoy…_

A limb twitched.

…_His excitement leaps as finally the door is merciful and fully admits a short, slender form: long, platinum-blond hair carelessly falling on the back, arranged around a handsome, bloodless face; pale feet peeking out from under the robes…_

_So pale as almost to be ethereal, so pure and pliable skin. Sinuous, working joints…_

A long, drawn out sigh.

…_A delicate wrist…_

…_Face… so flawless, artistic, blemish-less – an artist's aspiration to capture; lips, small, thin, and shell-pink – a drawer's dream to design on canvas…_

Harry's head nestled in the crook of Draco's neck.

…_A pale, unmarred chest, so perfect in its perfection, glowing in the tangerine light. Pink nipples stand attentive…_

…_Bony shoulders are exposed, torso, ribs, a slight suggestion of abs... _

…_Small thighs, the flawless knees, the legs, the petite, aristocratic feet that have never seen the ground bare – beautiful. Too innocent…_

A sigh.

_...Luscious, luxurious skin..._

…_Caresses a bum cheeks, and then delves into that delectable, hot, hairless crack…_

Draco's eyes wriggled behind his eyelids.

_...Look at me... cold, heartless, scarlet slits..._

"No," Draco moaned softly.

_... A startling, natural, pure green..._

_...I find myself attracted to corrupting the innocent..._

"No," Draco moaned softly.

_...I rescued you because I wanted to..._

_...Remove your robe..._

"No," Draco moaned softly.

_...Turned to him and wrapped his Invisibility Cloak around him..._

_...Why are you afraid, Draco…?_

"No," Draco moaned softly.

_...Draco, I'm here. I'll be with you... I won't leave you..._

_...Take off my robe…_

"No," Draco moaned softly.

_...I'm not here to hurt you..._

Harry's head snuggled comfortably into the crook of Draco's neck and he sighed deeply into its warmth. Draco's arms came up and encircled Harry's neck.

_...Draco, I'm here. I'll be with you if you want... I won't leave you..._

The boys slept on. So tired.

* * *

Ron and Hermione flew into Dumbledore's office.

"Professor Dumbledore, Harry's missing!" Hermione panted in wild panic.

Dumbledore looked up from the owl he was drafting to the Ministry concerning Theodore Nott.

"Good afternoon, Miss Granger, Mr Weasley," he said calmly, looking vastly unperturbed by the students' urgency.

Hermione's flush reddened in embarrassment. "Good afternoon, Professor," she mumbled, looking down at the crimson carpet.

Ron echoed the greeting. He, too, was looking very worried about his friend.

"Harry is missing, you say?" Dumbledore enquired with a raised silver eyebrow, his quill still poised above his parchment.

Ron and Hermione nodded frantically. "The last time we saw him he was going up to the dormitory. He told us he was going to take a nap," Hermione rapped.

Dumbledore watched them for a while over his half-moon spectacles. Then he stood up and turned to his numerous portraits on his walls. He did not appear to have any sense of urgency about him.

"Normia, my dear..." A portrait, stationed on the left wall of Dumbledore's office, animated promptly. It was a tall, mature woman wearing discreet, purple robes and elaborate jewellery. She sat on a large, green couch in what looked to be a study. The woman did not look like an ex-headmaster of Hogwarts. "...Would you kindly go and have a chat with the other portraits to see if anyone has spotted Mr Harry Potter in the afternoon – say, after two o'clock, if you will?"

Normia nodded sharply, her jowls compressing against her neck, before she floated onto her feet and exited her portrait through a wooden door in the background.

Dumbledore turned to Ron and Hermione. "You have absolutely no idea of where might Harry have gone?"

Hermione turned to Ron, who shook his head sadly. "I couldn't find his Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map in his trunk."

Hermione turned shiny hazels back on Dumbledore, her lips quivering near bursting.

Dumbledore kept quiet for a moment before he spoke again. "It would be foolish to search for him if he doesn't wish to be found, which is likely given the items he seems to have in his possession. Er, perhaps Harry simply felt like he needed some fresh air?" he suggested with a small smile.

Ron and Hermione shared a glance. It could not be clearer that they were thinking along the lines of, 'Harry never goes out for "fresh air!"'

"Maybe," Hermione mumbled doubtfully.

The room fell quiet again, the silence broken only by Fawkes chewing on a bone, her rich scarlet plumage gleaming in the afternoon glare of the sun streaming from the restored mullioned window to the right of Dumbledore's office. Ron's and Hermione's attention began to wander along the various instruments and surfaces of the office but not too long afterward they heard a click and looked back at the portrait at Normia entering it. She slowly crossed the floor and adorned herself on her long, green couch, primly arranging her purple robes on it and taking her sweet time.

Hermione glared incredulously at the old lady, sorely tempted to give her a piece of her mind, it seemed, and so beside herself was she when Normia remained wordless that her shock broke through her manners. "This pompous hag…!"

Her voice rang loudly in the continued silence, and the portrait did not speak. Dumbledore's beard twitched. Beside her, Ron, whose face was twisted with incredulous indignation and whose reserve, though far lesser than that of Hermione, had broken as well as he hissed, "This lady has a serious attitude problem!"

But Normia took neither offence nor notice of Ron and Hermione, and it was only when Dumbledore addressed her very politely when he begged, "Normia?" that she finally spoke. Dumbledore seemed to know the various temperaments of his portraits well, for Normia promptly nodded and cleared her throat as though she had been waiting for this.

"I've spoken wizzi azza portraitz. Zey tell me zat zey have seen 'Arry Pottur inzi afternoon, yes. Zey say he waz running down ze hall and vent to zi dungeonz... Slyrerin dungeonz..." she finished darkly, as though she were speaking of hell itself.

"Ah," Dumbledore said with another twitch of his silver beard. "My deepest thanks, Madame Deblois."

Madam Deblois nodded curtly and froze in her regal posture and did not move again.

Ron's and Hermione's eyes bulged. Hermione's brain turned furiously here while Ron grew two spots of heat on his freckled cheeks, though he did not seem all that clued up.

Dumbledore came around his desk and sat in his tall-backed chair, a serene smile fixed on his face. "I'm inclined to believe that Harry is now in the company of Mr Malfoy to, er – shall we say – resolve a few things?"

The two students blushed furiously in front of the headmaster.

"Perhaps we shouldn't, er, interrupt them at this delicate moment in time."

Ron and Hermione's face could light up a thousand candles.

"I think it's safe to say your friend will return to you whole and very much relieved."

That was it. Ron and Hermione practically ran out of the office.

"Told you it was a bad idea," Ron grumbled at her, the colour of his face matching his hair.

Hermione, clearly disturbed, agreed.

* * *

Five o'clock, five-thirty, six o'clock, six-thirty...

Hermione paced in front of the fire, her face lined with anxiety and worry. Her hair was even frizzier than usual and her forehead was creased perpetually in a frown. She mumbled under her breath some passages from her numerous textbooks perhaps to calm herself as Ron sat in one of the squashy armchairs in front of the lit fireplace. He twirled his wand and he, too, wore a worried face.

"What could Harry be doing with Malfoy right now?" Hermione agonized, as she wrung her hands, still pacing in front of the fire. Ron looked up at her through his red fringe. "Are they talking? Are they fighting? Is Harry bleeding? Injured in the dungeons, alone and with no one to turn to? Or are they..."

Ron blushed and quickly resumed his fascination with his wand.

The cackling of the fire and the live chatter of the Gryffindor students lazing around filled the common room. Only a handful of students had come back from the infirmary after being treated for burns and smoke inhalation from the Fiendfyre in the Great Hall earlier in the afternoon.

Hermione was visibly fretting more and more with every stroke of the minute hand, and with her own hand she was nervously flipping the chief Enchanted Galleon as though prepared to summon the members of the DA they acquired on Saturday for their first meeting so that Harry could lead them to the room he discovered at Dumbledore's teach. Or perhaps to marshal them towards the dungeons to rescue Harry…

Now, however, with Harry nowhere to be seen and time ticking away, her confidence was ebbing away as her shoulders drooped lower and her pacing grew lazy and defeated, something which seemed to rub off on Ron, who remained dolefully quiet and who kept twirling his wand. It wasn't hard to see that clearly niggling in their heads were the questions, 'Is he okay?' 'What if he isn't?' 'Who knows what Slytherins are capable of?'

_Swoosh!_

Their heads shot to the window to see a tawny school owl fly into the common room and fly over to Hermione, bearing a small, rich parchment with a delicate ribbon. Ron jumped up from the couch and came over to her as the owl landed on her arm, whereupon he took the liberty to slide the missive off the owl's leg and undo the ribbon. Their heads drew together as they read the contents of the note.

_Mr Weasley and Ms Granger,_

_I beseech you to remain without worry and not to seek Harry out. Be assured that your friend will return to you in due time. Please be patient._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

They stared at the words for a few moments before looking at each other. Ron shrugged the affair off quickly before he could grow another blush and took the missive, wishing to victimize yet another student with the letter's auto-incineration feature. Hermione eyed him with a flat, unimpressed look.

"Ron."

Ron grinned at her mischievously and tiptoed to Parvati, who was sitting with Lavender at their usual corner. Hermione, spotting Ron's target, looked considerably less disapproving of his devilish whim. Ron approached the famous gossipmonger and, with a sweet, innocent smile, offered her Dumbledore's note, at which point Parvati stopped rolling her eyes and finished off her mouthful to Lavender ("...And it's not as if he's that bloody gorgeous – he could have done without that humungous mole of his that draws you in every time, if you ask me. It's like a vortex, isn't it? There's something weird about it... I think that's how he gets those shameless sluts always hanging off him. Can you bewitch your mole to attract people...?"). She looked at the proffered note, then up at Ron's kind face, and raised her eyebrow in a silent question. Ron shrugged his shoulders in what was supposed to be a coy manner.

Lavender's eyebrow also rose, looking curiously between her friend and Ron. When Parvati turned to her, her eyes went round and she gasped. "Lavvy, it's not what you think!" she cried indignantly as she desperately shooed Ron away and threw him a scathing glare. It could not have been clearer that she was afraid Lavender would make sure it became overnight news that Ron Weasley fancied her.

Disappointed, Ron grumbled furiously under his breath at his failed plan as he stomped away. But he was suddenly struck with an idea. With what one would call Gryffindor temerity rather than bravery he spun around and threw Dumbledore's note at Parvati.

Hermione's bulging eyes followed the trajectory of the missive. Ron's jaw hung open with anticipation.

It hit Parvati on the forehead, making her hair flutter, but the letter did not auto-incinerate. Parvati was unhinged: she shrieked crazily at Ron and flung the missive back at him. Floored, Ron retreated away, all the while being pelted by Parvati's slaps and her colourful invectives.

Hermione frowned. In the wake of Parvati's storming rampage, she went over to the letter on the floor and picked it up, scrutinized it for a moment before pocketing it. If it did not destroy itself then perhaps it was not supposed to be destroyed. She returned to her couch, where her nervousness and anxiety overtook her again. She shook her head woefully at something unspoken and then grasped her quill again, continuing with her homework.

Meanwhile, Ron was running upstairs to seek the refuge of the fifth-year-boys' dormitory, away from a deranged Parvati. Unfortunately while the stairs leading up to the girls' dormitory magicked themselves into a slide so that boys could not use them, the stairs towards the boys' dormitory had no such function and allowed Parvati to smack away at Ron even after entering the dormitory.

After settling herself back into her chair with a royal huff, "My friend," Parvati cooed sweetly as she stroked Lavender's hand with the air of someone pleading their case. She pointed behind her at the stairs leading to the boys' dormitory. "It wasn't what it looked like, honest," she tittered nervously. "I don't do redheads, Lavvy, you know that." Parvati beamed up at her friend, though her eyes remained plainly desperate.

* * *

The room was dark and slightly chilly in the depths of the dungeons. Harry and Draco slept.

Seven o'clock, seven-thirty, eight o'clock...

Draco's chest slowly rose against Harry's and fell back down. Harry's breath softly warmed Draco's pale cheek. Draco's legs lay in between Harry's, their groins kissing.

Nine o'clock, ten, eleven... twelve...

"Nnnnnnhh," Draco moaned in the midnight stillness, his forehead creasing.

Harry shifted a bit.

_You feel brave enough to entertain your own indulgence! Do you think this was for your own pleasure?_

"Nnnnnnhuh..."

Harry's thumb twitched.

_Enjoying yourself, weren't you, Draco? The pretty whore you truly are!_

"Nnnno, huh, nnnot a pretty whore..."

Harry's head slowly lifted up out Draco's neck. Somnolent, green eyes squinted down sleepily at thick darkness. An unseen strand of saliva connecting Harry's lips and Draco's cheek broke off.

"Draco?" was Harry's soft voice in the black room. He could not see anything.

"Nnnnnnno, mnot a pretty whore..."

Harry blinked slowly. "Draco," he prodded softly again.

Draco released a heavy sigh, blasting Harry with warm breath. His head moved a little and grey eyes peek out of their eyelids to stare into the darkness.

"Harry..." A sleepy voice.

"Draco..." An equally sleepy reply.

There was silence for a moment with just the sound of soft breathing.

"Tell me I'm not a pretty whore..." came the slurred, bodiless words.

Harry's head resumed its position in the crook of Draco's neck. "You're not a pretty whore, Draco. Sleep."

And Draco did as he was told.

They slept...

"Pretty... yes-" Harry's head turned the other way, and he sighed deeply. "- you're pretty, Draco… my pretty... pretty catamite..."


	18. Minor Confession

**Chapter 18**

**Minor Confession**

One o'clock, two o'clock, three, four, five, six, six-thirty...

"It's time to wake up, my dragon. It's time to wake up, my dragon. It's time to wake up, my dragon..."

It was the beautiful voice of Draco's mother sounding from the dresser. The soft gushing of running water filled the room. The large oval emerald pebbles on the ceiling were glowing brighter, illuminating the room with bright, green light. The wardrobe opened itself and items of clothing hovered out its doors in a neat line as though they hung on an invisible levitating clothes rack: a green and silver tie, pressed designer grey pants, dragon-hide black shoes and belt, satin shirt, Slytherin-green silk Barmees, silver satin socks and black ordinary school robes.

A hand shook Harry. He hummed vaguely in reply. Another shake and Harry protested with another hum. A violent push to his shoulders and Harry was rudely rushed back to the land of the living. A green eye slowly peeked out and took in the sight of a blond boy holding out an olive-silver flowing material. His other hand was pointed at the door.

"Draco," Harry rasped roughly, in that half-declarative, half-inquiring way that came with morning disorientation.

Draco did not flinch at Harry using his first name this time, but he was still pointing at the door. "Potter." There was a note of a sneer in his voice.

Raven hair dishevelled, and still in his school robe and shoes, Harry languidly sat up on the bed and yawned. He felt around for his glasses and thought he heard a derisive snort amidst the soft sound of running water from the bathroom. Putting them on, he noticed that Draco's clean clothes for the day were laid out in perfect arrangement on the unoccupied side of the bed.

It was very strange, and relieving, not to wake up with light bombarding his four-post from the window in Gryffindor Tower. He brought his hand to his face and read the time of 06:30 on his wristwatch. The hand fell limply back to his side as he looked up to the boy with whom he had been sleeping – so to speak.

"Draco," he whispered, unaware that he was smiling.

Draco looked taken aback by this fond expression and two very faint spots of pink blossomed on his pale cheeks which made clear he had not forgotten their little wrestling match and nightlong positions. His thin lips pursed defensively and he pointed his finger more vigorously and overtly at the door – where he wanted Harry to be heading towards any moment now now.

"The door, Potter."

Harry followed the pale length of the arm to where it pointed. Then he really took note of the pale, naked arm, and his eyes drew towards the rest of Draco's body, and Harry suddenly snapped out of his hazy morning sleepiness. His jaw dropped onto the bed hung and he matched Draco's reddened cheeks with his own pink spots after heat rushed into his face.

Draco frowned at this reaction. "What?" he snapped.

It was something else, something magical for Harry to see… That he could actually leave a physical impression on Draco, that he could have an impact on him, that he could affect him, and this was physically evident. And it made him blush furiously. Harry knew it was his own drool caked on Draco's cheek because he was truly unable to imagine a prim and proper and refined person as Draco as habitually drooling in his sleep. He could, however, most certainly imagine himself doing so, though it did not happen too often. Harry swallowed, awed by this sight. He scrutinized the white caked spot of saliva with rapt attention.

His forehead creasing with confusion, Draco brought his hand up – the one which had been pointing at the door – to his face and searched for some new apparent deformity at which Harry was staring. Harry too felt around his lower face and it was confirmed: it was his dried drool on Draco's cheek. Merlin, it was disturbingly fascinating, and... attractive – not the drool being physically there on Draco's cheek per se, but the fact that it was his own spit on Draco – a part of him was on Draco. He was on him. And the fact that Harry's actions could actually inflict a consequence upon Draco. He could affect Draco. Even though it was a small, superficial, random impression, it still spoke volumes for Harry.

Draco's eyes suddenly bulged before a disgusted expression twisted his pale face. "Ugh, Potter! By Merlin, you drooled on me!"

Harry's cheeks grew hotter and he looked down and bit his lip. Why on earth that picture was so interesting still floored him. It was just spit.

Why was Harry fascinated by the smallest, most petty of things? Perhaps it was because he was a virgin, that he had no experience in relationships and sex – that was why his sexual imagination was limited to fixating on these small things. Or perhaps he was just a sick boy who harboured weird fetishes…

Like feet, because he really adored Draco's feet – their paleness, that perfect heel of his, those perfect toes… And his legs – their bow shape… And his knees – so bony and spotless and so perfect… And his hips – their smooth and bony corners… And his delicate wrists – that one single blue vein running across it made it look so delicate, so breakable, fragile… Draco could make grown men growl with lust, and fifteen-year-old peers want to protect him from the harsh world and pamper him in every way they could. He bore no marks or scars from childhood. He seemed fashioned out of a divine being's purest and highest imaginations. He was not real – he was unfathomable on earth…

Perhaps Harry simply had a fetish of detail, because he found himself loving the small things, not the usual attractions. Or perhaps he simply needed serious therapy.

Draco jumped around in disgust, wiping the mess away with a pained grimace and shaking off the dust of saliva that had fallen on his torso. He glared at Harry, whose attention, however, was on something else.

"What's that?" Harry asked in a flat tone, pointing at Draco's underwear.

Draco looked down and snapped his head back up again. "What? It's a Barmee," he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. But understanding soon dawned in his face. "Oh yes, you're practically a fully-fledged Muggle…" Draco reminded himself. "…in my bloody room, no less." His features then assumed a superior, al- knowing expression. "This is what we wizards wear under our pants and robes. It's a type of something we call underwear. I assume you have something like that on as well?" Then in a low voice and with a wince, "I hope, at least…?"

Harry's face burned. "Of course I'm wearing one! And I know what underwear is. I just don't know what the hell that is!" He pointed at the green silk pair of Barmees again almost accusingly. It looked like a cross between the normal Muggle Speedos and the BVD underpants. And by the gods it was showing off most of Draco's thighs… Merlin, that pale expanse of luscious skin… It had Harry hot under the collar. He gravely hoped his pants concealed any and all reactions. But more embarrassing was that he knew Draco's body, the realization of which hit him in the Great Hall the previous day when Draco had come over to the Gryffindor table to hand him back his Invisibility Cloak.

Draco was frowning at him, looking confused. Harry's eyes imprudently flicked down to the naked, alabaster chest and then back up at those discriminatory silver orbs. This only served to remind Draco that he was still in the process of kicking him out.

"That's totally irrelevant," he said very quickly. "It's not my fault you don't know anything about fashionable underwear, and expensive underwear at that. Now, if you would kindly excuse yourself, I need to take a bath! You have no right being here!" He emphasised this by pointing at the door again and shaking Harry's Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map in his face.

This soundly crashed Harry back onto the real world – the world outside Draco, outside his absorptive attraction towards him. The transition was cold, jarring and deflating. The amusement and the light air shortly departed. Harry looked at his proffered possessions and up at Draco, freshly reeling from the abrupt disparity of the two worlds.

_No, I don't want to leave, you stupid git! I want to resolve everything that's between us and I want to be bloody around you, you stupid, beautiful prick!_

Harry's green eyes glared almost sedately at Draco as the Slytherin just stood in front of him, ordering for his leave as though it were that simple between the two of them. Well, it was not anymore. Things had gotten complicated and they needed to be dealt with. But Harry did not want to appear desperate, pathetic and without pride. But it would be so hard just to walk away without working things out. And there were things that needed to be worked out, despite mounting evidence to the contrary!

He sat there on the green duvet, indecision and stilted anger rendering him motionless – fully clothed, bespectacled, school robes wrinkled, breath horrible, looking pathetic, told to leave, being dismissed.

And he continued to stare at the blond Slytherin, in whose face he found only but hot and blunt rejection. He took in those silver orbs, remembering when last he saw them: mere inches from them, they were filled with horrid fright and vulnerability, only yesterday, on this very bed. Those same eyes he had seen downcast in submission, glittering with fear, tearful with pain now mock him. They reject and dismiss him. They are not scared anymore – they do not reflect the terror that they held mere hours ago. And he was the one who granted him this, he was the one who afforded him this relief, he was the one who saved him, and now Draco dismisses him?

He had no right.

"You know, it's funny, Draco," he said, in a calm and level tone, making sure to emphasize the other boy's name, "that I stayed with you, I slept with you..." That was not supposed to come out like that. Draco's eyelids fluttered for a moment. Harry swallowed, losing all momentum. But to smother the embarrassing moment he plunged ahead with some vehemence. "I was there to wake you up if you had any nightmares, and you did have a nightmare! About Voldemort. You told me to tell—te—t—to tell you that..." _By the gods I'm not helping himself right now…_

Draco sharpened at this point. "What? What are you on about?" he blustered finally when Harry kept silent.

Harry's cheeks burned. Thank heaven Draco did not remember his own words. "That's beside the point! The point is you can't just throw me out like I did nothing for you! I stayed with you while you slept after you told me you couldn't sleep for days. And I'm the one who rescued you from Voldemort! Doesn't that count for anything?"

Draco looked at him, and his eyes glittered sinisterly. There was a familiar brittleness about him again – a hard but fragile look – the same look he had when Harry had approached him out the Great Hall. A bony ripple appeared on Draco's jaw as he clenched it before releasing a soft snort of humourless laughter, and he sneered, "So what, Potter, you want compensation for your good Gryffindor deeds? Is that it? You feel like I owe you for rescuing me?"

Harry recoiled, perplexed by the words.

"What do you want, Potter, hm?" Draco went on, in the same reasonable, level voice, seeming almost primly as he folded his arms, the Invisibility Cloak tucking under his armpits. His eyes took on a deadened, lead look. "Do you want me to coo your name graciously every time you walk past me? Do you want me hug you thankfully every now and then. Smile brightly at you every day?" Draco was approaching the bed slowly as a shadow flitted past his face. "Or were you expecting a similar show like the ones in your dreams?" The bony ripple in his jaw grew more pronounced as he gave a strained half-smile, now inches from Harry. "Do you want me to 'entertain' you like I di-"

"That's enough, Draco!" Harry growled, panic breaking his voice. He was categorically stunned by Draco's words, barely believing they were spoken. His heart was held by a painful, twisting grip.

But Draco came off the hinges. "What?" he raged. "What the hell am I supposed to think when you tell me you saw everything that that sick man did to me and every time I see you you're sporting a bloody hard-on? Yes, Potter! I did feel your prick against my arse back then! Remember? When we were wrapped in your Invisibility Cloak? And then only yesterday on the bed you're sitting on right now! Sure you don't want payment for your admirable actions, yeah! Sure you don't want that hard-on taken care of! You want to be rewarded for 'rescuing' me! Well know this, Harry Potter: you're sick – you're twisted. You think you're better than him, that you're morally superior to him just because you weren't physically doing anything to me. But guess what? You're as hard as a broomstick! Even now! Just as he was! Just as he had been! Face it: you're just as perverted, you're the bloody same-"

"SHUT UP! JUST SHUT – THE FUCK – UP!"

The emerald duvet billowed to life as a strong invisible gust whipped it about furiously, and the loose pieces of parchment on the escritoire and the clothes on the bed swirled high above them below the ceiling. Harry was on his feet, a short, sinewy line of raging power. Draco seemed short of breath and his eyes had ignited as he gaped at the swirling parchment. He seemed to experience a spell of euphoria, transported.

"I'M not the one who raped you! I'M not the one-"

"Yet you still seem to be equally fascinated by me just as he was!" Draco shot back, recovering himself.

"I—I—itdtch—kit—digt—That's because I experienced what he did, okay?" Harry blustered. "Because of what I saw! It felt like I was the one doing those things, thinking like him because of my scar! I don't have the connection with his mind anymore! So don't you dare—don't you DARE compare me to him! I don't rape and torture! I don't kill people like they're just irritating flies! I don't shoot Killing Curse after Killing Curse like they're getting out of fashion! I'm human! Voldemort's not! I have feelings! Voldemort doesn't! I can love! Voldemort can't! I can love you! Voldemort can't! He can't, do you understand that? He… blood… can't…!"

Stark silence in the room.

Breaths wheezed, chest heaved, emerald and silver erupted, emotions blazed.

Ragged panting... panting... glaring emerald, awe-struck silver... revelations and revelations... unknown confessions yet known and kept confessions...

A low, low voice: "I can.

"I can love you, Draco."

Harry walked out the door.

"Wait."

The footsteps ceased at the door.

Draco turned around and studied every line on Harry's body. He did not speak for a moment.

"What do you mean... you can...?" he said nervously, licking his lips.

Harry did not say anything, nor did he move. A few seconds later he turned around and eyed the boy squarely as he swallowed to soothe his throat, which was coarse from the screaming.

"I care about you. I don't want to see you hurt. I want to protect you. I want everything to go back to the way it was – you calling us names and starting fights with me... I—Before... Voldemort... I couldn't care less about what happened to you. I thought you deserved anything bad that happened to you. That was when I didn't think you were human, that you could hurt, that you had any feelings. But I know better now – you're just another kid, like me, and you have gone through... a terrible thing. I just want to—I—I don't want to see you suffer anymore. And this is very hard for me too – I saw what Voldemort did, both times. And it has affected me too: I didn't ask to see you go through that.

"And... I want to be—to be honest with you... The second time you were with Voldemort... I—I—I... when I saw you starting to... like what you were doing... I mean I know you didn't like doing it but—but—when you seemed to like—to enjoy what you were doing, I—I liked it too. The way you looked, Draco, the sounds you made... but I only liked it when you started liking it – I didn't like it because you were hurting or because you were being punished. You looked... beautiful...

"That's the thing that's affecting, that's the thing that's scaring me. The things that Voldemort noticed, the little things... I saw them too and... I like them too because I've never seen so much of you, I've never thought of you... like that. God, before Saturday I had never even seen any other prick but my own – it's not like the blokes parade naked in the shower room after a Quidditch match or anything. But... I'm finding myself really turned on... by you, and I don't feel like that about anybody else, about any other bloke."

Silence.

A loud swallow.

Some rustling of robes.

"What do you like about me?"

Silence.

Inaction.

Stillness.

Slow footsteps approached and finally stood in front of a bare pair of feet. Inaction. A hand came up.

"Your hair."

A soft, superior snort. No words.

An assenting smile.

The hand slowly, lightly ghost over the pale face. "Even your forehead." The hand trails down, touches the two, shell-pink strips of flesh. "Your lips…"

The hand drops, caresses the neck. The other hand comes up and follows the length of the pale arm. Both hands travel down to the hand, bring them up and green eyes study them, still in awe of their perfection. "Your hands."

"Father hated them."

"I love them." Hesitation before a kiss is placed on each hand, finger and palm.

A few emboldened, adventurous blinks from both eyes. They look down and capture the long, naked legs.

They dismiss the groin entirely.

Inaction.

The knees slowly bend, the hands drop the other hands and take hold of the thighs, slowly roam around, over the perfect knees, over the flawless shins and down to those aristocratic, petite feet.

The hedgehog of raven hair tilts back and gives way to gleaming green.

"I could literally kiss your feet."

Draco drops himself to Harry's level, the knees bending. Grey stares into green.

"Po—Harry." It is incredulous. "Are you—are you serious?" A whispered question.

Harry looks wistful, and then he nods. He looks down.

Draco swallows, his eyes still wide with disbelief.

The two boys sit kneeling closely to each other. The green-eyed boy is looking down seemingly in shame.

Silence.

"I never thought of myself as a poof."

Silence.

"You're not a poof. The Dark Lord influenced you. Besides, if you were I would have been the first to make up and spread the badges – 'Poncy Potty Poof' or something like that."

The raven-haired boy laughs.

Silence.

"What magic did you use to hide your face?"

"Glamours. Glamour Spells."

Nods.

"Do you think the other Slytherins heard us when we were shouting?"

"I cast a Silencing Charm on Sunday. I had to find out from Pansy that I had been screaming in my sleep."

Silence.

"You're going to be living with Sirius."

"Yes. He's my uncle."

"Sirius? Your uncle?"

A nod. "He's Mother's first cousin."

Silence.

"Wow. He never told me about that – or anything else really. We've never talked a lot. He's my godfather, by the way."

"Oh… Severus was my godfather."

The Gryffindor's head whips up, mouth agape. The Slytherin grins. It makes the Gryffindor smile. But it fades away.

"I'm sorry about Professor Snape."

The blond's grin also falls. "Yeah…"

The water stopped running.

Stillness.

"What happens between us now?" Draco asked, fiddling with his hands nervously.

Harry did not answer for a while. He released a long sigh and ruffled his jet-black hair. "I don't know, Draco. I don't know."

Draco peered over his shoulder at the bathroom door. "I have to get ready for school."

"Yeah, sure." Harry got up, trying to move not too quickly and not too slowly towards as well towards the door.

"H—Harry." Draco grimaced slightly at the weird sound passing his lips. He was getting better at this. He stood up.

"Yeah?"

Draco cleared his throat and blinked rapidly. "Thank you for sleeping wi—I mean, for staying me throughout the night. Merlin knew I needed it. Thanks." He turned around to go to the bathroom, tossing over his shoulder, "Don't forget your Invisibility Cloak and that blank parchment you came with. What purpose it serves I can fathom not. But then again you were always strange, weren't you, Potter?" His voice trailed as he disappeared in the bathroom. He missed Harry's smile as the boy picked up his belongings and stepped outside.

_Jesus, I did it! I bloody did it! _

He had confessed his feelings. All that he felt, all that had troubled and haunted him – all those weird feelings and urges. He had exposed them. It felt like he had been purged somehow, liberated, almost purified as well. He felt lighter, freer and less answerable to his mental interrogations. He felt so pumped up right now.

Touching Draco with his own hands, those areas he adored… And Draco, Draco did not even push him away or called him names for his sick fantasies. That must have meant he really understood him and that he was really quite humble. Draco thanked him_. Bloody hell, today's something else. And I bloody slept with him…! Woke up in his bed, in his room. Hell, I just did that! Said all those things! Finally!_ Harry traversed the grand granite stairs without awakening to the enormous grin plastered on his face.

But then he noticed that the common room was empty. He glanced at his watch, which read just a few minutes to seven o'clock. Merlin, Draco woke up this early? What for? Shaking his head, Harry crouched as… wait… Why was he crouching if no one was here to see him? He could just waltz out of here and no one would the wiser. But not wishing to take his chances, and considering this was Slytherin territory, Harry remained under his Invisibility Cloak all the way to the portrait hole and removed it only after stepping out of the common room and into the dark hallway.

"Ssssah, Harry Potter vissitss the dungeonsss..."


	19. Cauldron Sizzling

**Chapter 19**

**Cauldron Sizzling**

Harry's hairs stood on end. He spun around, and startled green eyes fixed on the portrait of Salazar Slytherin. It was smiling.

"Yess, Harry Potter, I've heard of your legend. My ssnakessspeak of you consstantly and foully. I'm mosst undecided as whether to deem them inssipid or merely competent ssimply by prerogative. But they do dissappoint, many a time… Unlike you..."

Harry glared at the portrait without entirely knowing why he was angry at Slytherin and unable to making anything of his conundrum.

"What are you talking about?" he snapped. He looked around wildly at the dark hallway, which was illuminated only by dim, green light from the line of torches on the walls burning with green flames.

"You, Harry Potter, are an interessting anomaly." Where did Harry hear that before?

"I ssee the glinting vesstigess of my future in you. What ssecretss do you hold, boy?" Slytherin demanded, in a faded but still petrifying hiss.

"I don't know what you're talking about! I'm nothing like you!" Harry shot at him.

"Fool yourssself, I beg!" Slytherin cackled in ecstasy. "Ha! You sspeak righteoussly whereass your heart wishess to ansswer at my ssummon! Why iss it that virtuouss Harry Potter harbourss the shattered image of my heir? Ansswer that!"

Harry felt himself shaking with rage all too quickly. It was a familiar rage – he felt it a lot of times. He was intimately acquainted with it. It was a soft patina of comforting and numbing fury, so warm and friendly it must have been an extension of himself.

"I'm nothing like Voldemort," Harry hissed in a low, deadly voice, his emerald eyes agleam. That defence felt worn on his tongue. It felt inadequate and feeble the more times it felt his lips. It was rapidly becoming meaningless.

Slytherin merely grinned, all pointed teeth glinting. He stuck out his forked tongue and flicked it at Harry, who then spun around and tore down the hallway, the victorious, sibilant guffaws of Slytherin's wheezing laughter following him.

"Farewell, Harry Potter!" came the mocking pleasantry from behind. Harry sped towards Gryffindor Tower, where he did not have to deal with new and frightening identity issues and conflicts of self-definition. Anything Slytherin was ultimately bad news, he thought. He had to know that.

He flung his Invisibility Cloak upon himself as he stomped around the last few corners. Then, suddenly, he witnessed something: a flash of flowing magenta robes, aplenty with all the celestial bodies. Fighting to suppress his screaming emotions, Harry slowed down and nearly slammed into the corner. From around it he watched Dumbledore and Theodore Nott, together with his levitating trunk and owl, walk down the hallway, presumably heading towards the Entrance Hall. Worrying his lips, Harry decided to follow them, pushing aside his furious indignation at Slytherin's portrait. If Nott was leaving then he wanted the satisfaction of seeing it – he was the one whose father had exposed his presence to Voldemort in Malfoy Manor and nearly killed him.

Harry caught up to them as he tiptoed. Theodore Nott appeared so small right now, on his own, being kicked out of school. He sulked at the ground and his shoulders were drooped. Dumbledore wore only a dispassionate face. His quick strides led the two of them to the familiar hallway leading up to his office. Harry watched them as they disappeared behind the phoenix gargoyle. Perhaps Dumbledore was going to read him his rights or something before sending him off to the Ministry and then to Azkaban. The green-eyed teen continued to Gryffindor Tower, thinking Nott deserved whatever came his way after nearly killing Draco.

Harry whispered the password to the Fat Lady after waking her up with another bang of his fist to her fat face. Fortunately this time no suspicious noises were elicited upon her rousing. He quietly climbed into the Gryffindor common room and, to his surprise, saw a worried-looking Hermione holding vigil at the couches, arms crossed, and a piercing stare directed at him. _What the...?_

"Hermione," he breathed in shock. Was Hermione usually up this early as well? Now that Harry thought about it, he realized Draco and Hermione had a lot in common.

The girl, clad in her nightgown, did not speak for a while. Her eyes were red and her hair a wild bush. "Morning, Harry," she finally said in a neutral voice.

"Morning." Harry already felt guilty, even though he was vaguely aware of what he was guilty of.

"You were with Malfoy."

Harry nodded meekly, embarrassed.

"The whole night."

_Merlin, she's really rubbing this in, isn't she?_ Harry nodded again, a little harder this time. His eyes went to the floor.

"You had us worried, Harry. Ever thought about your friends when you ran off to Malfoy's private room?"

"I had to sort some stuff out with him. It couldn't wait."

Hermione remained silently observant for a while. She then produced a small note and opened it to read it before he lifted her head and resumed her blank stare at Harry. "Dumbledore told us not to disturb the two of you."

"Oh," Harry muttered quizzically as he approached her and took the proffered note, reading it. He was speechless. In the expectant silence he awkwardly folded the parchment up but Hermione snatched it from his hands.

"I'll take this back for safekeeping." She sighed, "Harry, look, this thing you have with Malfoy… Ron is probably not going to take it well. I think you should be sensitive towards him and not be too... obvious when you're around Malfoy because I see how he reacts – he doesn't like it."

"Yeah, sure," Harry said flatly, and he headed to the stairs. "I have to get ready for school." He did not particularly like discussing 'him and Draco,' even with Hermione – it was not comfortable. This was new and scary for him as well.

But before he could retire in the safe confines of the boys' dormitory, he heard Hermione speak from behind him.

"Harry."

He stopped in the middle of the stairs and slowly turned around, adopting a dispassionate face. "Yes?"

"Are you ready for a DA today?" Hermione asked, in a business-like fashion, as though she were over Harry's transgressions. "We have to get ready, Harry – it's just like you said: we can't predict what will happen. Anything can happen, and we have to be prepared."

It suddenly dawned on him that they were supposed to have had a DA meeting yesterday, when he had been sleeping with Malfoy. This only exacerbated his guilt. He was disappointing his friends hugely. "Yeah, sure," he deadpanned contritely, before he took two stairs at a time towards the dormitory and before he could suffer any more guilt and Hermione's painfully non-accusatory face.

The familiar appearance of the dormitory threw into sharp relief that he had been ripped away from that nice, euphoric beatific little world he inhabited whenever he was with Draco to one where only guilt and self-admonition greeted him.

He approached his four-poster. Ron's bed curtains were up even though he could hear his friend snoring. He climbed onto his own bed and sighed into it. He was not tired but quite refreshed actually. But he just wanted to lie down for a while before heading for the showers. His eyes closed, glasses a little dislodged, his arms lying lifelessly on the bed. And a huge smile made itself known on Harry's face, pushing away all negative sentiment from his mind, filling him with a wonderful, shy happiness. His cheeks battled to fight the intrusive expression but only managed to have Harry biting his lower lip.

About thirty minutes later he was woken up from his brief nap by a staggering Ron. Harry shed his school clothes and followed his blind friend to the showers. They did not speak to one another as they emerged from the boys' dormitory all dressed up and ready for class. There was yet another something that kept them apart, insidiously and slowly pushing them away as the seconds ticked by. They met up with Hermione at the bottom of the stairs as usual.

The common room was lively with students getting ready for school and doing their last-minute rounding up of their homework. Dean and Seamus joined them as they headed for the Great Hall, and it seemed that there was between them as well that segregating force. Dean wore an oblivious, innocent look while Seamus trotting along beside him was trying to hide a frown and his furtive glances at his dark-skinned friend. They all ambled along in tense silence interrupted only by the short pleasantries exchanged between the couple and the trio. They strode through the large oak doors, whereupon Harry looked up to see, as per usual, Dumbledore sitting behind the High Table, his long beard tossed over his shoulder to prevent it from landing in his food. McGonagall on his immediate left, opposite of which the chair of Professor Snape sat empty, was ready to receive inane anecdotes on selective dishes and anything else of Dumbledore's liking.

Harry's head automatically turned to the Slytherin table. He spotted Draco sitting on the far end. There was a definite shift in the Slytherins' regard towards Draco now: they had collectively moved a seat up. Crabbe and Goyle sat across him, shovelling mounds of food into their mouths. Pansy – Merlin, someone hold Harry back – was practically shoving her bosom into Draco's face, and Draco's seemed to be obliging her from where Harry stood! Harry held his face from scowling, not wanting to show his emotions, especially in front of Ron and most definitely Hermione.

The five Gryffindors shuffled over to their table and took their seats. Harry could not help but look over his shoulder again at Draco. He turned back towards his table, denying himself further time for observation lest someone noticed. And indeed Hermione had not been fooled regardless: Harry just caught the last few moments her gaze was levelled at him. But she swiftly averted it back onto her food. Ron beside him… Well, suffice it to say, the redhead was admirably oblivious to everything once he engaged himself with his breakfast.

Harry also delved into his own breakfast. He was starving – he had slept for more than seventeen hours on top of Draco. He started filling up his plate and poured a glass of pumpkin juice. For a while he furtively eyed Hermione, who was nibbling on a toffee biscuit as she read from her Astronomy textbook. Harry wanted to do something contrite at her, but he had no idea what to do. At last he came with the brilliant idea of telling them about the Deathly Hallows. His friends gaped at him. Ron had forgotten all about his breakfast, some of which was visible to Harry in the other boy's hanging mouth.

As he continued to talk to them – fielding whispered questions intermittently – it occurred to Harry how much he kept from his friends. He had not told them about the time he had found Dumbledore in the hallway at night and him staggering forward, seeming inches from death. He had not told them about Snape and Draco then, and about what happened in Malfoy Manor between him and Draco in respectable detail.

But surely some things were not meant to be shared. He could not tell them about the overwhelming relief he felt upon noticing a naked Draco lying on the bed in that detested room. Or what happened when he had wrapped himself and Draco with his Invisibility Cloak and rolled them off the bed. Some things were just private – they had to be kept to oneself, to preserve their sacredness somehow. He could not share those moments – they were his and Draco's.

He turned to the High Table and looked at Dumbledore, who was smiling and beaming at his professors on either sides of the table, talking cheerfully about whatever struck him interesting. It seemed McGonagall was the new victim of these anecdotes of Dumbledore's in Snape's stead, though she looked to be a little more tolerant of him. Dumbledore did not appear to mind much bearing the knowledge that his own days were numbered in the light of Snape's death. He was just the same old Dumbledore Harry had always known. Harry gave a small smile at the man, who then, by chance, spotted his face from a legion of Gryffindors by the small of chances and reciprocated his smile, accompanied with a twinkle of bright blue eyes. Harry's smile grew and he turned back to his breakfast.

Hermione showed every indication that he was wanted to draw Harry back to speaking more on the Hallows, as seemed Ron. Her Astronomy textbook lay forlornly and abandon next to her plate.

When she and Ron briefly relented and discussed what Harry had told them between each other, Harry grabbed the chance to look over his shoulder at Draco. His heart jumped into his throat, and a liquefying buzz ran over his entire body at the realization: he had just caught Draco looking at him. Merlin, what on his bloody wonderful earth could that mean…? And the way Draco so quickly looked away was even more titillating, and telling! Harry quickly back to the table, nervously digging into his food with new fervour. He battled against the reflexive urge to bite his lower lip, lest Hermione notice his smitten face.

There was the sound of fluttering wings. The students in the Great Hall squinted up with hopeful grins at the sea of feathers overhead. The owls began to descend to their owners to deliver their parcels. Harry tracked his snow-white owl as it flew over to Dumbledore as usual while also surreptitiously keeping an eye on the equally noticeable, large eagle owl that belonged to Draco. Even though he knew the bird could not be bearing a letter of the same nature as the one it delivered on Sunday Harry still felt wary and apprehensive for Draco.

Draco, on the other hand, gave his owl an impassive smirk as he undid the string holding the package to its leg. He opened the small box, which glinted emerald, and from which he picked out some candy. Pansy took the liberty of selecting a few pieces without permission, whereupon Draco pulled the box closer to chest and all but scowled at the girl, which pleased Harry immensely. Chewing, the Slytherin ripped open the golden envelope, slipped out a rich-looking piece of parchment from within it, and read it. He smiled. Harry's chest deflated in relief, and he turned back around and…

"Ow!"

Hedwig had cuffed him in the eye with her wing. He had not seen her flying over. But when he looked down at her legs, she had no note, even though she had flown over to Dumbledore. Disappointed, and teary-eyed after Hedwig's attack , Harry wanly patted the wretched owl and fed her bits of his breakfast. Hermione was paying another owl a Knut for delivering her _Daily Prophet_, Harry's hatred of which was still quadrupling with each passing day. Harry watched Hermione apprehensively through his fringe for her reaction. And instead of her eyes widening and her lips partly slightly in shock, Hermione wore a resigned look on her face.

"You-Know-Who's in the Ministry," she declared.

Harry almost gagged on his pancake as his dread-fraught eyes shot up to her.

"Mwa?" Ron mumbled through his bulging cheeks.

"Remember what Professor Lupin said about You-Know-Who letting his werewolf army loose on Hogsmeade?" Hermione said as she handed them the paper, which Harry took it with a tremendous amount of trepidation. Ron leant into him as he began reading the article as well.

* * *

**MINISTRY BAKES BRACING BASH**

Hinton Gerry

_Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge announced yesterday a bash to be held in the tiny village of Hogsmeade in order to" revive the people's spirits" in light of the new spates of mysterious attacks in surrounding areas and other isolated settlements in the rest of Wizarding Britain._

"_It will be a time for the villagers to relax a little and have a chance to look ahead instead of dwelling on the negative," the Minister told the small crowd of reporters packed in the atrium of the Ministry._

_The massive bash will be held on Tuesday, 30th September at the Village Square at eight o'clock. All are welcome._

"_Bring your distant cousins and those other obscure relatives you only pretend to know and love over that occasional tea," Fudge chuckled. But asked if he could shed some light on the recent attacks on the outskirts of Hogsmeade and in certain parts of Budleigh Babberton, Fudge responded by affirming that they were on the lookout for the culprits and went on to guarantee their capture. He also told the media that the public needn't be too fussed about these isolated incidents as the Auror squad was on top of things._

* * *

"It can't be coincidental," Hermione sighed, worry crinkling her forehead.

Harry whole-heartedly agreed. As far as he knew there had not been any occasion such as this in the past. It was too much of a coincidence – Voldemort had somehow managed to get the Minister to make an announcement that would draw countless people out into the open in the same place at the same time. It would be easy meat for the werewolves to feast on. Voldemort's army was going burgeon.

They had to stop him.

But who? Harry looked up at Dumbledore: there was not a trace of a frown on the headmaster's face even as he read the paper, just as there were not any on Hermione's. But then Dumbledore put the paper aside and seemed sadly resigned. Harry imagined that the Minister had not – or would not – want to hear anything from Dumbledore, just as he had not wished to the previously year when he had flat-out refused to believe Dumbledore that Voldemort was back. Even today he had not accepted this, judging by the continuing ignorance of the Wizarding world, reflected in the _Daily Prophet_. Harry turned away from the High Table. This meant that they – the DA – had to stop them. But... bloody werewolves. They could be killed…! Or worse: bitten!

Harry slowly looked up at Hermione. Was she thinking the same thing? They were merely kids, students – they could not handle this… But they had to, otherwise who else was going to? He cast his head down at his food and idly finished the rest of his breakfast.

Shortly after the bell rang and the trio made their way to the first class. Two lessons of Transfiguration later, they found themselves in Defence Against the Dark Arts. The class quietly waited for Moody's arrival, which was something of an event not to be missed.

Soon enough there came the high clunking noise of wood on stone floor as Professor Moody threw the door open and crossed the floor loudly to the front of the classroom. He turned around and assessed the class closely with both eyes, the electric-blue one intensely scanning the students one by one.

The magical eye never failed to notice the strange contents the students had in their pockets. Many thought Moody crazy because of weird comments like, 'Go get'em, boy!' which were often accompanied by a proud, literally breath-taking pat on the back. Moody had only learned about condoms when he had confiscated one during the early days of the academic calendar. Needless to say his first and only victim had turned into a beetroot in front of the whole class. His only consolation had been that most of the students had not actually known what the small, square package had been, since they were either purebloods or half-bloods brought up in the Wizarding world all their lives. After discovering the use of this curious little device the Moody handshakes and pats on the back came in ever-increasing numbers.

"What do yer know about shield spells?" Professor Moody growled at the class in his rough, forceful voice.

A few hushed murmurs littered the DADA classroom as the students discussed their competence in that area. But Hermione's eyes had widened. She turned to Harry, a serious, indicative look on her face. The green-eyed boy caught this but did not really get it. Behind them, Ron's lips were in an 'o' shape and his eyes were sparkling, evidently impressed by this new topic.

Hermione mouthed to Harry, "That's a seventh-year spell!"

Harry's face then broke into understanding. Merlin, they were being taught Defence well advanced for their years. That had to mean something – they were being prepared for something.

At the negative response of the class Professor Moody got up from his table, shook his head agitatedly in dismay, as though expecting mere fifteen-year-olds to know and have mastered such a demanding spell, and waved his hand dismissively at their incompetence, apparently having reached the end of his patience. He started pacing in the front of the class, his wooden leg clunking along as he did so.

A gnarled finger pointed at a student. "You."

Dean Thomas gulped audibly. Professor Moody beckoned for him to come up to the front. The dark-skinned boy scrambled out of his chair and did as instructed.

The class was extremely quiet.

Dean stood quiescent in front of Professor Moody, who blinked.

"Well? Take out your wand, boy!" he roared.

Clearly blushing, even though this was not visible, and in tremendous embarrassment Dean fumbled for that familiar length of wood in his robes as some of the students sniggered at him, albeit a few extended him the courtesy of trying to cover their laughter with contrived coughing fits. Dean whipped out his wand shakily, blinked furiously, and held it rather stupidly in the face of Moody's incredulous glare.

Mad-Eye Moody grumbled lowly at the back of his throat, presumably dispelling off Dean's foolish actions, or the lack thereof. He limped over to the other side of the room a good distance away Dean.

Dean grew horrified at this.

"Now, I'm going to attack you with a simple spell."

Everyone asked himself or herself, 'What's a simple spell to Mad-Eye Moody?'

Dean's Adam's apple bobbed.

"And I want you to shout, 'Protego!' at the spell, all right? Remember, 'Pro-tay-go!'"

The Defence students whispered in hushed tones amongst themselves. Would Dean survive this, bearing in mind this was Moody, whose stability was questionable?

Dean's wand seemed to wilt in front of Professor Moody.

Professor Moody shouted, "_Stupefy!_"

"_Protrego!_" Dean shrieked, his wand furiously aquiver.

Nothing happened and Professor Moody's spell hit him in the breastbone, toppling him to the floor.

Moody released a harsh grunt before limping over to the boy. He looked irritated by him as he lifted the spell. "Get up, lad. Go to your seat. Next better cabbage!" he roared.

Dean staggered slightly towards his chair, various hands patting him consolingly along the way. Seamus gave him a tentative backrub as he collapsed in his chair. Dean did not protest, smiling at his friend gratefully, at which point Seamus grew pink in the face.

If only Ginny could see this, Harry thought wickedly.

"Any other volunteers?" Professor Moody asked again, as though Dean had volunteered in the first place.

There was no reply.

Professor Moody's magical eye whizzed around wildly in its socket. Seeing no one was forthcoming, he had to relent. "Harry, come up here."

_Bugger._

Harry immediately berated himself for thinking so negatively. He reminded himself that he should be accepting Defence help left, right and centre. He should be the one hungriest to learn these things, to be at the forefront of it all – he was leading the DA, after all. Sirius' words echoed in his mind: _Harry, you need to prepare yourself. Now. Take any help you can get, listen to your friends, do not underestimate or overlook any agent of help_. While these words might translate to a mere precaution to others, to Harry it translated to just survival – mere survival.

He cleared his throat softly and stood up. Hermione's rigid hazels were locked onto his face. Ron, behind him, wore that proud look he got whenever his friend achieved something huge, like a Quidditch match victory. How could Ron be so oblivious? How could he have the audacity to look so proud? This was not about looking good or impressing teachers. It was war. That word again…

Suddenly enlivened with this newfound fury courtesy of Ron's utter unawareness, even though Ron knew they were at war, Harry resolutely made his way to the front of the classroom, his emerald marbles ablaze with a new determination.

Professor Moody gave him a curt nod. He distanced himself once again and stood attention at the other end of the room. Harry brandished his familiar length of holly and phoenix feather, grasped it firmly in his hand, kept a steady eye at Moody, and evened his breathing as he took his stance.

"All right, remember: say 'Pro-tay-go!' Nice and clear, all right?"

Harry nodded. It was about survival.

"_Stupefy!_"

"_Protego!_"

Silvery fluid sprung out of his wand and spread itself into a dome-shaped shield in front of him and absorbed Professor Moody's spell.

"That's what I like to see!" Moody growled proudly. He limped over at Harry and gave him a heart-stopping pat on the back. Then he turned to the rest of the class. "Well? What'you waiting for? Get practicing with your partners, yeah!" Moody thumped Harry once more on the back before he stumped away and disappeared behind the door next to the blackboard.

Close to an hour later outside the classroom, as they headed to the Great Hall for lunch, Hermione declared very proudly, "So now you have another spell you're good at, Harry, that you can teach the DA tonight."

Harry nodded quietly. He was getting nervous about standing in front of a large crowd of expectant students – he was never one for crowds.

"The Patronus Charm and the standard Shield Spell," Ron boasted, his chest swelling.

Their agenda for the DA meeting was starting to look substantial at last.

Lunch shortly gave way to Potions some thirty minutes later. Professor Slughorn instructed them to brew the Polyjuice Potion. Harry, all bright-eyed and completely oblivious to the way of the Slytherins, attempted to skitter over to Draco and 'furtively' ask him if he would attend the DA meeting tonight. But before Harry could even set a foot forward in the blond's direction, Draco stopped him in his tracks with a swift but very potent glare before resuming his smile at Pansy as she cooed and simpered away. Disappointed and saddened, Harry had ambled along with Ron and Hermione to Gryffindor Tower. But when he had looked back, amazingly, he had noticed Draco staring at him for the second time that day, and saw his lips mouth, "Owl me."

Harry thus found himself in the Owlery, almost giddy with anticipation, ready to call up on an owl to send the note he had made right in front of Ron and Hermione while they had been busy with their homework. Harry had confirmed to them Draco was indeed on their side and that having him at a DA meeting might be beneficial since he could give them a rare insight into the world of the Dark Arts, as his father was a Death Eater, or ex-Death Eater, it seemed…

Hermione, wishing to play along and distract Harry from Ron's blatant disapproval of the idea as easily decipherable from his twisted scowl, had suggested to Harry that maybe he could also ask Draco to try searching in his mini-library (Harry had thrown in the fact that Draco had a bookstand in his room, when she had been politely fishing about his stay in it the previous day, in order to partly justify his visit there and to predispose her to the idea of inviting Draco to the meeting) for anything related to immortality in the Dark Arts so that this could augment her own research in the school library. Harry had agreed to this and had put it in the note, together with the instructions of how to enter the Room of Requirement – Yes, he had.

Harry decided on a tawny nondescript school owl for this assignment instead of his distinctive Hedwig, whom, everyone in the school and the rest of the Wizarding world probably knew belonged to him – precisely why Dumbledore checked his mail, right? Seeing the bird take off towards the dungeons, Harry watched the dimming skies for a moment before heading back to Gryffindor Tower.

Perchance Draco will join them at the DA meeting tonight. Harry really hoped he would – he looked forward to it – now more than ever.


	20. The DA Meeting

**Chapter 20**

**The DA Meeting**

At seven o'clock in the hallway outside Gryffindor Tower Hermione had pressed some of the dials on her Enchanted Galleon and within minutes the members of the DA had begun arriving in spurts from every House except Slytherin. Once the last few members joined them Harry had led them to a nondescript stretch of wall on the third floor, paced three times in front of it, and the door had materialized in front of them. They had trickled inside, awe-struck expressions sprouting in their faces as their eyes danced around the room, which had transformed itself at his request into the huge amphitheatre-like room that he had been in with Dumbledore and his team of experts in the First Meeting.

The handsome DA crowd now stood at attention in front of Harry, a sea of faces turned up at him expectantly, with a cough here and a rustle of robes there. Harry nervously looked down on them from the dais, swallowed and cleared his throat.

"Welcome to the first DA meeting," he declared, with a pained grin. "As you know, we started this defence club because there was—it's simply necessary – we have to learn to defend ourselves so that when the time comes we're ready, and that time is closer than all of you think." With the corner of his eye he noticed Hermione and Ron shuffle about anxiously and look around at the other members. "So tonight we're going to be practicing the Shield Spell that Professor Moody taught us today so we can block, like, Unforgivables or whatever. We're also going to be doing the Patronus Charm."

Curious mutterings instantly bubbled up from the gathered students. It might have to do with the fact that the Patronus Charm was a spell advanced beyond the years of normal Wizarding schooling, and the exclusiveness of learning it took well to them. Again Ron and Hermione glanced around the room with expressions of pride in Harry.

Harry reintroduced the students to the Shield Charm, and Dean – whose performance in Professor Moody's class had been disastrous – was been the first person Harry assisted. Most – meaning everyone except Neville and the overweight girl who had taken offence to the name of 'Light Kids' for Dumbledore's Army – mastered the Charm after a few stumbles. Harry later moved on to the Patronus Charm, and needless to say the DA had much more trouble with this particular spell. It took three quarters of an hour for someone to produce the spell satisfactorily after Harry had demonstrated the spell a handful of times. Shortly afterwards the room was filled with merry white, wispy animals galloping and floating across the room. After mastering the spell Ron and Hermione helped out the students who were struggling.

Harry had been shooting intermittent glances at the doors to see if Draco would walk through them, but two hours and a half into the lesson, there was no shred of platinum-blond hair present in the room. He had more than half-expected this, if he were to be honest with himself. But still, he had had a small, glimmering hope that maybe – just maybe – Draco would come, come for him. Harry gave a small sigh and proceeded to help Neville with the Patronus Charm for the umpteenth time.

Then the room went suddenly silent as the spells died on their casters' tongues. Harry whipped around and saw Draco Malfoy step into the Room of Requirement, all slender, and sexy, and just bloody Draco!

"Draco."

Wearing a black polo-neck shirt and grey pants under his school robe, Draco gazed disinterestedly at the large group of students after giving the magnificent room a brief, irreverent glance. He tossed his hair out of his eyes, inclined his tall chin and folded his arms in what Harry knew was a protective gesture.

"Draco," Harry whispered as he approached the boy.

As soon as he was within hissing range, Draco let rip. "Merlin, Potter, in case you aren't aware – there're more than a few eyes watching you so you cannot afford to look so bloody smitten! Have you no pride?"

Damn it, he had been smiling without knowing it. Harry fought to straighten his face. "You came." He was unknowingly smiling again.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're awfully and excessively presumptuous, by the way, you know that, Potter?"

Harry was absorbing everything about Draco, from his haughty expression to his hair. Which was why his frown came belatedly as Draco's question registered only registered a few seconds later. "How so?" he asked in a sort of singsong voice, and a smile began to break at the edges of his lips again, whereupon Draco's lashes started fluttering bashfully.

"You think just because we've gone through what we have that you can come up to me right in front of the other Slytherins—Excuse me but this is a private conversation, do you mind? Don't you have some meagre defensive spells to practice or something? Or perhaps Potter hasn't had the grace to enlighten you yet?" he snapped at the extremely attentive crowd.

"Draco," Harry warned, as he took his arm and turned towards the room at large. "Keep practicing, guys. I'll be a minute." He did not want to look in Ron and Hermione's direction but pulled Draco to the nearest corner, away from the others.

"You were sa-"

"I was saying," Draco cut across him furiously, "you can't just bloody strut up to me like that in front of the other Slytherins – that's as good as murder!"

Harry's elation and nice mood shortly departed. "Oh. I—I'm sorry."

Draco recoiled, looking taken aback for a moment before he scowled at Harry's contrite face. He was most likely wondering if all Gryffindors were this sensitive and disgustingly humble, and whether they used this guilty, puppy-eyed look to disarm people. "I just thought that since you 'can love' me you would at least try not to make sure you get my head stuffed on a pike. I'm trying extremely hard to keep things at least as they are apart from trying to rebuild my reputation. It's a very sensitive and delicate process!"

Who had said those similar words? Hermione. Yet another thing Draco and Hermione both had in common, and Harry was starting to dislike these mounting similarities.

"I said I'm sorry, what more do you want?" Harry snapped. He was irked at Draco's flippancy of tossing in his earlier words as carelessly as he had done as though they were any other arbitrary four words.

"What am I doing here, Potter?" Draco asked quietly, crossing his arms, an eyebrow raised.

"What happened to 'Harry'?"

"'Harry' died in my Prefect's room in the Slytherin dungeons," Draco deadpanned.

It was worth just hearing him say it again. "Well I'm still going to call you Draco."

"Have a blast."

Harry scowled at the blond boy. He shook his head and took Draco's arm again. "Come on."

"You're quite touchy today." It was a light, polite observation uttered in the same vein in which one would comment on the weather. Yet it stopped Harry in his tracks. The Gryffindor gaped at Draco as though he had just been struck in the face.

"You bastard!" he gasped indignantly. He was not grossly offended but just reeled from the words at the back of what had transpired between them only that morning.

"I beg your pardon?" was the calm, falsely oblivious question.

Harry clenched his jaw to prevent himself from dignifying Draco's attitude, and he forcefully pulled Draco towards the rest of the DA by his wrist.

Although he was suffering Draco's attitude right now, it was an attitude that he had unknowingly missed. He missed the feisty, sharp-witted Draco he left last year, the one who had taunted him from the first day he set foot in Hogwarts.

"Oi, watch it! I bruise easily!"

Delicate – porcelain… A wave of sparkling heat travelled down Harry's body, and he looked back at Draco rubbing his wrist after he yanked it loose from his grip. But Harry looked away just as Draco's eyes found his. Yes, he was positively smitten. Harry fought against biting his lower lip in virginal giddiness.

He held his hand up to get the DA's attention and at once the incantations and the spell-light died down.

"Guys, you're all probably wondering why Draco is here."

Mutters and whispers arose from the students at the reference to Draco's first name by Harry. Parvati and Lavender were looking positively delirious where they stood, their eyes hungrily devouring the sight of Draco – all lean, slender and gorgeous! Hermione had pursed her lips as she gazed at Draco in a reluctantly respectful way. Ron, however, was outright glaring at Draco as though he was the most repugnant species to walk the earth.

"I've asked him to join us because he obviously knows a little about the Dark Arts and how they operate," Harry went on. "So maybe he could tell us what to concentrate on and stuff so that we don't waste our time on spells that might not work on others or whatever. Like, if there're special shield spells for Unforgivables or something."

"Too late for that, Potter."

All eyes shot towards Draco standing a few paces behind Harry.

"Sorry?" Harry said, turning around to Draco.

"Unforgivables are impervious to Shield Spells."

It was a powerful blow that smothered the Room of Requirement into silence.

"What?" Harry asked meekly.

Draco smirked as he made his way to the desk on the dais. He hauled himself up on it, sat crossed-legged, clasped his hands on his thigh and tossed his white-blond hair off his shoulders. He did not seem ready to entertain the question, however.

Floored beyond anything, Harry stood rooted, the DA behind him wordless, the elation and the pride he had in them done away with a single stroke. All that hard work of nearly three hours...?

"What do you mean the Unforgivables are impervious to Shield Spells?" Harry pushed on.

"As a matter of fact," Draco said, ignoring the question, "the Unforgivables are impervious to all spells – all." His grey eyes roamed around the room, taking in the palpable, stark disbelief and disillusionment etched quite plainly on their faces, and he smirked at them.

"But how can they be?" Hermione asked, looking more outraged than incredulous. "I'm sure there were other more superior Defensive Spells invented after the Unforgivables were."

Draco looked at her wordlessly for a moment.

"The Unforgivables are absolute," he said slowly and clearly as though addressing someone suffering from Down syndrome.

"How's that possible, for three spells to remain unstoppable for all these years? That's unreasonable!" Hermione sounded the slightest bit derisive as though she were striving to disprove Draco and felt rather threatened by perhaps another intellectual in the same room.

In his owl Harry had not warned Draco to be civil towards Hermione and not call her a Mudblood as he had in previous years simply because he thought that would have been idiotically presumptuous since Draco first had to agree to show up at the meeting in the first place before he could decide to be so derogatory. But now Harry almost wished he had because Hermione was pushing the envelope and Harry wished Draco had enough self-restraint not to submit to his contempt, if he still possessed it.

"The Unforgivables are unique to all other spells – different laws apply to them," Draco said coolly, and Harry indulged on a small nugget of relief.

Hermione looked aghast, quite forgetting to be on the defensive, it seemed. "Can you at least lift the spells with _Finite Incantatem_ as we can all other spells?" she scoffed half-jokingly, half-seriously with the air of a girl desperately gripping onto a last hope.

"Ah," Draco said, smiling at her, taking Harry aback, "but there's a little condition: only the original caster of the curse can lift the spell – no one else. And this applies only to them because, as you know, you can lift other people's spells."

This was met with more incredulous silence.

"What about the Cruciatus? Does it too have to be ended by the original caster?" asked Ginny, whom Harry suspected of wanting to head off Hermione before she could open her mouth again.

Draco leaned forward and, with a brilliant smile of two gleaming rows of perfect, aristocratic teeth of Hermione's parents would have been proud, he sang, "Positively." He added, "And please refer to it as the Cruciatus Curse, not the Cruciatus."

The room fell silent again, and Harry knew they were contemplating Draco's alarming respect for the Unforgivables as he was.

"Is the Killing Curse really irreversible?" asked Ernie Macmillian, latching onto this unspoken train of opportunity to ask Draco about the Dark Arts.

Draco's eyes lazily swept over to the boy, but he did not answer him, and Harry could plainly see that he was recalling his own near-death experience with the mentioned spell courtesy Theodore Nott, for alarm flickered in his eyes for the barest of moments before he assumed a look of exquisite impassivity.

"Can't a revival spell work or something?" continued Macmillian, who had grown red in the face, clearly trying to save face before his peers.

This time Draco did answer the question after gazing silently at him as though appraising the boy's intelligence, and when he spoke Harry suspected it was only to reflect to Ernie Macmillian the stupidity of his own question.

"Think about your words for a moment. How many people would be alive today if there was a counter curse to the Killing Curse? And what about the logistics of it? To revive a full human life from the dead… There are so many things that are improbable and questionable in that, we really should not be wasting any time on it. If you know of a revival spell at this moment in time, then please, do show us." Draco graciously swept his hand invitingly.

Ernie Macmillian did not speak but melted into the crowd, his flushed cheeks glowing brightly behind a hedge of heads, at which Harry grinned. Finally someone put that blasted Macmillian in his place, remembering the boy's supercilious attitude towards him in the Hog's Head on Saturday.

"And of course we would need somebody to volunteer to die," Draco went on, refolding his arms. "And that is only if any one of us is actually even be able to cast the Killing Curse in the first place."

"You mean kids can't cast the Killing Curse?" Harry asked.

Draco turned to Harry. "No, Potter. Even many adults can't cast the Killing Curse. To be able to cast it you have to really want the person dead, and not many people understand that or are able to completely feel that way. It's an entirely different intent, an entirely different feeling. The science of it all is quite beautiful and intriguing, really." He looked over to Hermione and spoke directly to her. "Think about it: Shield Spells, Deflecting Spells, Reversal Spells – they don't work against Unforgivables. Don't you find their inexorability and uniqueness fascinating?"

Hermione's widened eyes and her parted lips answered for her: she was taken.

"So if I cast a Killing Curse now-" Hermione began.

"Please refer to it as the Killing Curse. I think you would agree it deserves that much respect – assuming, of course, you consider yourself an intellectual," said Draco smoothly, smiling at her.

Having just returned to the fray to be corrected like this, Hermione turned crimson and her lips pressed upon each other so hard that they were white, bloodless strips of flesh. "So if I cast the Killing Curse right now," she drawled, with a brutal emphasis on the article, whereupon Draco's smile widened, "it wouldn't happen? You're extremely sure about that?"

Draco raised his eyebrow. Harry was quite sure he was thinking how Hermione could doubt his words on a subject to which she had never shown aspirations to master. "I'm quite confident about it, yes," Draco said primly. "Ah, I see," he breathed suddenly, with awe shining in his face and bulging eyes as he jumped off the desk. "I guess I can't really blame you. Actually wanting to hear the words through your own lips, knowing that they would be inconsequential sounds quite attractive, doesn't it?"

Hermione's eyes fluttered about and she inclined her chin staunchly. But Draco had hit the truth on the mark. He approached her, still with a gleam of surprise to his eyes, and went up to her face.

"Do it," he dared.

Ron intervened incredulously. "Finally lost it, have you, Malfoy? You can't just ask someone to cast a bloody Killing Curse. Are you mental?"

Draco did not deign to look at Ron but stepped away from Hermione, his eyes still locked on hers, however. Then they swept across the room, taking in the gaping mouths and shocked faces, and Harry spied the slightest sneer wrinkling his nose.

"Who wants me to cast the Killing Curse?" Draco asked the crowed.

Silence fell.

Ron, pureblood thoroughbred, raised in the Magic world his entire life, looked beside himself.

No one spoke. It was clear they were all secretively hoping he would instigate himself without needing their approval, thus not incriminating themselves. Moreover, their faces patently betrayed that they were impressed by the bravery Draco was displaying in proposing to cast a curse by which he had nearly died mere hours earlier.

"Malfoy, are you crazy?" Harry shrieked. "You can't just cast a Killing Curse no matter how 'inconsequential' you think it is!"

Draco merely gazed at him quietly.

The members of the DA in front of them kept deadly quiet, intrigued by all of this, by Draco.

Harry was glaring at Draco, outraged.

Draco slowly made to take out his wand without taking his eyes off Harry, whose eyes darted down to the wandering hand and next thing a wand was trained dead centre in Draco's face with lightning-quick speed. Despite all they had been through Harry suffered no illusions that Draco was less a Slytherin in essence than he was before Hogsmeade.

Draco's hand hung on the wide loop of his belt as he peered down at the wrong end of Harry's wand. He smirked. "Don't you think it's interesting to know that if I choose to cast an Unforgivable right now there's absolutely nothing you can do?" Slowly he brandished his own wand and raised it at Harry.

Harry's pulse surged in fear. Draco would not dare – he would be found by the Ministry and prosecuted for it, right? But this fact offered little comfort.

Draco kept his ponderous gaze on Harry, his wand trained straight at Harry's chest, a cold smirk on his lips. He stood like this wordlessly for a spell, staring directly into Harry's swollen green eyes.

Not a single student moved.

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

Everyone gasped. Harry blanched.

But nothing happened.

Merely hearing the words again shook the DA.

Draco smirked. "See, Potter? As much as I hate you right now I still can't perform the Killing Curse on you." He smiled sweetly at Harry, whose face still had not twitched in the slightest, frozen in shock. Draco's smile dropped. "Like I said, wanting to kill is something else entirely. It's an enigmatic intent, simple but complex a process. It's quite beautiful, don't you think?" He flashed another brilliant smile at Harry as though he had impressed him.

Harry was not coherent enough to answer as Draco's incantation still rung in his head.

"And those who are capable of casting the Killing Curse, I don't know about them. I don't know if they are still human…"

Did those last words not capture Voldemort just so eloquently? Harry thought.

"Human," he muttered dazedly to no one in particular.

Draco's head tilted sideways, still gazing at Harry almost dreamily. "Human," he echoed.

"How come you know so much about the Unforgivables?" piped up the only second-year in the DA, and it was clear everyone thought this question frivolous. Malfoy was the son of a prominent Death Eater – one would think he would know a thing or two about his father's trade.

"Well, apart from being the spawn of the Dark Lord's right-hand man," Draco drawled with dark humour, "I had studied the Unforgivables intensely in the summer for weeks in the Malfoy library." Draco's face darkened slightly at this point.

Hermione appeared to pique at the word 'library,' for she stood a little straighter and watched Draco with reluctant avidity.

"And I found that Unforgivables aren't normal curses. In fact, they shouldn't be classified as curses. They really are on their own. Powerful. Exclusive. Unique. The most fascinating of any spells."

This should have been scaring the DA rather than intriguing them, but the way Malfoy spoke about the curses… They found it hard not to be.

Draco resumed, "I found out that a long time ago the Cruciatus Curse wasn't widely used because there was a far worse curse." The words flowed from him as though he had read them only that morning. "Bawr says, 'The more agonizing variation that was still popular in those days, but now dwindled into extinction: the Tortus Curse. The sole reason it was rendered obsolete by the Cruciatus Curse was that the victims were so overwhelmed with pain they didn't scream, didn't move, for the muscles would spasm so severely they remained taut and rigid for several minutes even after the torture had ended. The only movement the victim would betray was their eyes rolling back into their head. This lack of physical demonstration of 'true' pain discouraged the Dark witch or wizard immensely, who most likely was eager to hear his victim scream, to see his victim suffer..."

Draco was pacing in front of the spell-bound students, and he spoke in a low, soft voice as though uttering a lullaby, a lullaby to a torturous night.

"'One can imagine how highly anti-climactic it was to the Dark witch or wizard, never feeding off the expressions of absolute excruciation on the sufferer, not attaining that feeling brought about when the screams would transcend into sobbing, moans – that very specific and precise moment of transition when their victims experience the pain in its entirety and become so completely overwhelmed that the building of the pain seemed to cease but reach an equilibrium of sorts, unrelenting and maintaining its potency, suspending the victim more absolutely in its excruciating grip than before, perhaps past endurance – giving one such an evil happiness, such "beatification," it was a quantifiable, discrete indulgence…'"

All were silent, mesmerized by Draco and his words, by the small sliver of light shed upon the shadowed practices of the Dark Arts. Hermione looked shaken. It was possible she believed Draco was speaking from experience, as Harry had told her that Draco had been suffering under the hands of Voldemort.

Harry adjourned the meeting shortly afterwards. He had not anticipated Draco capturing the whole event as he had. He should have known Draco was outstanding and that he would not fade into the background. Draco was not mediocre or nondescript – he was Draco Malfoy.

So he, Ron, Hermione and Draco hung back in the Room of Requirement as everyone spilled out into the hallway outside, dispersing his small groups in different directions back to their Houses.

Ron was glaring blatantly at Draco, but the latter was idly taking in the massive room, paying the redhead no mind. Apparently a bit more sympathetic towards Draco than she had been when he had entered the Room of Requirement, Hermione was giving jab after jab to Ron's side to deter him from his hostile attitude towards the Slytherin but was not succeeding. Harry was at the door seeing off the DA members and exchanging farewells. Seeing him approaching them after wishing the last student well on their way, Hermione gave her most forceful jab at Ron's ribs, which left Ron spluttering and nursing his side. She cleared her throat and spoke directly to Draco.

"So, Malfoy—I mean Draco... did you manage to find anything on what we asked you about?"

Draco regarded her wordlessly for a moment before he lazily searched his robe and produced a roll of parchment and handed it to her. "I figured if anybody had a wealth of torn souls from casting the Killing Curse it would be the Dark Lord," he snorted.

Hermione looked surprised at his words before she took the parchment, unfurled it and browsed it. The first part had been written in his handwriting while the rest seemed to be a copy of an original text judging from the print. Impressed again by Draco's academic aptitude, Hermione pursed her lips thinly and raised her chin. "A copying charm, I imagine?"

Draco nodded nonchalantly. "Script Duplication Charm," he corrected. He was surprisingly not pompous about it.

Hermione glared at him. "So what is it?" she finally spat, after it became apparent that Draco was not going to elaborate. She seemed more desirous of knowing than embarrassed.

An eyebrow lazily climbed Draco's forehead. "'Scriptus Duplicare.' You just draw a frame around the text you want to reproduce with your wand and tap on it. Then you tap it again on the other parchment."

Nodding a little stiffly at Draco's unexceptionable tone, she squinted down at the parchment and studied it raptly, and was joined Harry and Ron.

* * *

Excerpt from chapter 7 of _Theories of Magical Unknowns_, Volume 3 – a research journal published by Vaux University Press. Written by Prof. C Strolm, PhD MPH, and Dr. ZA Frascuma, PhD TFN. Special contributions by Prof. X Dolohov, Durmstrang, and C Burbage, Muggle Studies teacher and liaison to Muggle Physicist JB Layfield. Foreword by A. P. W. B. Dumbledore, [MLN (I)], GrndSrc, CWW, SMICW.

* * *

**CHAPTER 7**

_The Killing Curse_

7.1. Nomenclature

One of the few spells to fall in the classification of Inexplixterious nomenclature, though many suspect it to have a Muggle origin, the Killing Curse derives its name from the word 'Abracadabra,' which means, 'Let the thing be destroyed.'

7.2. Classification

Falls under the magic of the Dark Arts and is one of the three official Unforgivable Spells as classified by the Ministry of Magic.

7.3. Characteristics

Distinctly bright green illumination accompanied by a 'rushing' noise.

Greatest speed, together with the Imperius Curse, than any other spell to ever have been studied.

There is a distinct inadequacy in research material based on the intricacies of the Killing Curse, as it is an understandably extremely controversial and easily fatal a spell. Thus the distinctly short length of this chapter. However, from past research papers which contain archaic studies conducted upon the three Unforgivables, information was drawn on the Killing Curse, augmenting independent contemporary studies.

7.4. Facts of Standard

1. The Killing Curse is absolute as life is absolute. That is to say, an object cannot have more life than the next, regardless of size, age, etc. This gives rise to two subsets:

(i) The killing Curse kills* the live object completely.

(ii) The live object dies immediately, whatever the degree of contact with the Curse.

2. Highest luminosity of all spells studied.

3. Issue speed approximately 66.66667 metres/second, correct to seven significant figures.

3. No known counter curse, i.e. the curse is irreversible.

*'Kills'/'dies' are defined as the loss of life of a live object, or the expiration of existence (in a strictly non-ethical or philosophical sense).

7.5. Hypothesis

In the event that two or more Killing Curses contact each other in any spatial orientation, the outcomes are as follows:

1. A vacuum.

2. Since no atmospheric pressure exists in a vacuum, the vacuum will pull inward the surrounding air and consequently nearby objects, creating a 'black hole'*.

3. The black hole is shapeless, becomes increasingly non-discrete**, gradually decreases in strength and will exist for a limited duration (from microseconds to a few minutes).

4. An arbitrary but focussed spell (wand-cast or intensely focussed wandless) of any magnitude cast into the black hole will neutralize and destroy the black hole.

*Muggle definition (see glossary).

**Because the black hole becomes increasingly non-discrete and loses its strength gradually they are not regarded as dangerous.

Since the extent of death is immeasurable (as death is absolute), and the power of the Killing Curse is – as with all spells or performed magic – always variable, and this particular curse is usually cast with an intense behind it, some of the residual energy of the spell is manifested as sound. This explains the 'rushing' noise that many report to hear when the Killing Curse is performed.

7.6. Horcruxes

Many believed, and some still do to this day, that once a wizard casts the Killing Curse on another being his soul is either distorted or torn apart into separate pieces. Understandably this had been a longstanding point of contention since the invention of the Killing Curse itself as this is not possibly provable.

Shortly arising after the conception of this idea was the notion of Horcruxes. Adopting the latter of the two supposed outcomes, if one cast the Killing Curse, then could one not somehow store one's separated soul (assuming one needs at least one part to stay alive) in a physical, inanimate object? Moreover, if this was possible, would it mean that one was effectively immortal, or perhaps immortal until that object is destroyed? How does one destroy an object? Is an object actually completely destroyable?

We will not go into further discussion of Horcruxes. Firstly, this is because there is very little information about them and even less on how they are made. Secondly, the area of Horcruxes is unofficially taboo and remains deeply controversial.

* * *

"What the hell is 'Inexplixterious'?" Harry asked.

"Inexplixtery is a classification of spells whose incantations have inexplicable and mysterious origins," Draco answered.

"And why doesn't the Cruciatus Curse also have the same-" Harry searched the second paragraph. "-luminosity as the other Unforgivables?"

"Like I said, Potter, the Cruciatus Curse wasn't the popular torturing curse in the olden days – the Tortus Curse was used, hence it has the same properties as the Killing Curse and the Imperius Curse has. You can say it should be in the place of the Cruciatus Curse in the Unforgivables. It isn't because this is one of the many Dark Arts spells the Ministry doesn't know about, so they couldn't classify it as an Unforgivable. Nott, who cast about four Dark spells yesterday as though it's his hobby, is only going to be charged with casting the Killing Curse and the Cruciatus Curse. They won't charge him for the Tortus, the Fiendfyre and that _Confringo Malavera_ Curse – which I don't even want to know what it does – because they aren't in the Ministry register."

Harry remembered that near fateful moment in the Great Hall that afternoon: Nott firing Dark spells at Draco, viciously seeking to do damage on him, savageness distorting his face. "But you said you can't use any kind of blocking spells on Unforgivables and you did that yesterday in your duel with Nott."

"Muggle," Draco snorted, shaking his head disdainfully and rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "Do you want me to go into the intricacies of magic?"

Harry considered Draco quietly, not sure as to whether he wanted to endure the Draco version of a lecture, as he suffers quite a fair share of lectures from Hermione, who now suddenly gasped.

"Harry, look! You said you were training with Professor Strolm, right? He co-authored this journal! He's got a PhD in Magical Philosophy!" Hermione looked as though she had discovered a cure for cancer: her eyes were popping and gleaming excitedly. She continued in an equally awed voice, "And Dumbledore wrote the foreword! Remember what _Usele_—I mean that... useful magic book-" she corrected herself belatedly, casting a covert glance at Draco, "-said about him in chapter thirty-three? Goodness, you don't really appreciate the people around you until you see their names in print like this…" She looked down once more at the paper, her tentative grasp on it signifying her reverent regard for it.

Draco raised his eyebrow, seeming impressed in what Harry thought was maiden recognition of Dumbledore. Then the Slytherin turned to Harry and asked, "Potter, you have a book?" in a drawling voice, sounding as though he was also impressed by the idea of Harry owning a non-prescribed book.

Harry turned brick red, and it was not just from Draco's words. He was not too inclined to tell Draco the title of his book, so he just nodded wordlessly.

"What's the name of the book?" Draco pressed, sounding scarcely believing that Harry read in his leisure. This apparent doubt was unfortunately justified by Harry's appalling Potions mark, which Draco had been privy to because he had enjoyed the prerogative of being Snape's godson and apprentice.

Harry flushed deeply, Hermione looked away from the scene with quivering lips, and Ron gazed on in the silence. Draco raised an eyebrow again at Harry's silence and his reddened cheeks but shrugged nonchalantly and idly looked around the room, looking supremely unperturbed, all traces of flattering curiosity gone.

Ron, who was openly fascinated by and impressed with the book, looked around at Harry and Hermione as though wondering why they were not answering Draco. Although he still did not behave amicably towards Draco, apparently the urge to do the book just recognition was too great to ignore. In Harry's stead he gave Draco the name of the book in braggadocios manner and with loud emphases on the alliterating 'm' sound.

Draco blinked at him. Looking from Harry to Hermione, their seeming embarrassment for the title of the book etched on their faces, and looking to Ron's puffed chest, he appeared to make a connection before he threw his head back in laughter, covering his face with one hand as his shoulders heaved in mirth. Harry did not know which way to look. Hermione looked ready to join Draco in laughter. And Ron looked slightly thrown off by Draco's laughter.

Draco tried to get himself under control before them, wiping tears out of his eyes. "Ha, the Golden Trio," he sniffed. But he was rocked by another guffaw which began another full round of hysteria. Giving up on attempting dialogue, Draco stumbled towards the door and slipped out of the room, his laughter, littered with phrases like 'Mundane, marginal magic, useless, magic, useless…' following him.

Harry stared sheepishly at his friends in the moments following Draco's merry exit. Hermione's quaking lips gave way as she cracked into her own hysteria. Harry welcomed feeling affronted by her after having embarrassing thoughts of how sweet and beatifying Draco's laughter sounded. He too burst into laughter at the confused but enduringly proud expression in Ron's face.

Ron did not quite get why his friends were laughing. He joined them very tentatively as he was still trying to figuring out if they were laughing with or at him.


	21. The Definition

**Chapter 21**

**The Definition**

Shaking with laughter, the three Gryffindors headed out the door and emerged into the dark corridor, their merriment echoing along the ancient walls. At some point along the way to Gryffindor Tower they regained control of themselves and the compliments to Harry's teaching abilities abounded from Ron and Hermione.

"That was a good meeting, wasn't it?" Hermione said elatedly. "At least now we have concrete, usable defence moves for when the time comes."

The good mood instantly evaporated after these words.

"Guys, are we really going to go after the werewolves on Tuesday?" Harry asked Ron and Hermione, neither of whom replied.

They all knew it was dangerous and there was a very high chance they could be bitten and turned into werewolves forever. They would have to rely permanently on Wolfsbane and since Snape was dead, if indeed it was true that many Potions masters were reluctant to brew it due to the difficulty, then they would just have to exist naturally in their canine form forever. Could they really risk that? But many people were going to be in danger, the whole of Hogsmeade possibly…

"Well we can certainly count on Malfoy not showing up," Ron sneered. "He wouldn't want to spoil his royal pure blood."

Even though Harry wished to argue in Draco's favour against Ron he knew he could not because Ron was right: Draco in all probability would not want his 'pure' blood tainted, if all his bragging about it in the past was anything to go by.

Seeing that Harry did not disagree, Ron ploughed on, "Yeah, he just swaggers up in there and tells everyone they're wasting their time. 'The Unforgivables are impervious to all spells – all,'" he mocked in a girly, singsong voice – a travesty of Draco's refined tenor.

"Ron," Hermione admonished flatly, shooting a concerned glance at Harry.

"'Don't you find their inexorability and uniqueness fascinating?'" Ron was bending his knees and had a finger to his lips, rolling his eyes to the stars above them.

"That's enough, Ron," Harry snapped finally. It was as though the laughter they shared only a few yards ago was a million light-years away, a distant memory.

"What? I'm just repeating what he said," Ron said, trying, and failing, to effect a surprised look.

"You know that's not what you're doing – you were making fun of him! Draco was just te-"

"Oh yes it's Draco now. Tell me, since when did you two get on a first-name basis, eh? Oh no, I know: yesterday when you were in his room! Doing Merlin knew what and leaving your friends hanging and worried about you!" Ron glared down at the green-eyed boy, his height giving him an appreciable advantage over a meagre Harry, who, despite this, returned his glare in kind.

"I had some stuff to sort out with him. Urgent stuff," Harry growled.

"Couldn't you at least have told us when you were going before spending the whole day and night in his private bedroom? Merlin, I don't even want to know what you two got up to!"

Harry pushed Ron. "Shut your face! You don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

"Boys!" Hermione screamed.

Ron did not push him back, and the fact that he did not need to accentuated his physical advantage over Harry. "Of course I don't because you don't tell us anything these days! This whole bloody year you've been cooped up in that little world of yours! You don't speak to us anymore! And then you suddenly go running after Malfoy to save him. You're m—moaning his bloody name in the middle of your bloody sleep. It's the first thing you say after coming out of your nightmares-!"

"Shut up, Ron or I swear..." It was bubbling up, it was starting, right there in his gut. It was swimming up.

"Running after Malfoy's father like that, like y—y—y—you care about Draco! You actually went to Malfoy Manor on your own without us! You didn't even tell us properly what happened in there!"

"Ron," Hermione warned tentatively, looking around the corridor. The windows were rattling, making a soft, humming noise.

"But no, you don't have to tell us anything," Ron raged on obliviously, his anger in full flight. "We're just your friends – we don't deserve to be graced by the words of the almighty Harry Potter! Look!" Ron jabbed a finger at the nearest rattling windows. "Look at what you're doing! You're the all-powerful Harry Potter, making the windows shake! Whooohooh! He answers to no one, he does what he likes, he uses his friends and leaves them in the dark! He runs off for slippery Slytherins and spend the night with them-" A window shattered into a million pieces. Hermione jumped a foot in the air. But Ron ploughed on, if a little shakily, "And now Malfoy's going to be living with Sirius. Tell me, just how much you loved to here that, Harry? Yeah, I saw you blushing and looking at Malfoy as though he was prettiest thing you've ever seen or something!"

"Ron." It was vibrating. It was sinuous harmony, all too familiar. This rage was all too comfortable, a beloved song one plays over and over again...

"Monday – Great Hall – the slimy git-" Another window shattered. Hermione was shaking in fright, listening at the low, buzzing noise of the rattling windows. "-actually walks up to you and gives you your bloody Invisibility Cloak which he had been wearing naked! Starkers! Are you shagging Malfoy or something, Harry? Huh? It seems like everyone around me is going fairy these days! Tell me, who gets it in the arse, Harry-?"

"Shut up," Harry hissed breathlessly, shaking from head to toe.

"Look at this! You've changed! This whole year you've never been the same! What's happening to you? Look at what you're doing! People thought you were the heir of Slytherin in second year! Maybe they were right because this is not natural! Only on Saturday you did this again and then we found Snape knocked out on the bloody floor, stone-cold! You just told us that you'd been possessed yesterday! And it's because of this! It's exactly because of this! You can speak to snakes! You share His mind! He can jump into your mind! You and Him are the bloody same!"

…The bloody same…

And the floodgates opened.

Harry released a bone-curdling shriek.

Glass exploded and rained everywhere as Ron and Hermione were catapulted off their feet and thrown backwards across the hallway.

"AAAAAAAAHHH!"

Harry stomped down the hallway, bricks cracking and glass shattering as he went past.

"AAAAAAAAHHH!"

The rage was unleashed. He had tears in his eyes. He tore down the hallway, leaving devastation in his wake.

"AAAAAAAAHHH!"

Harry ran. He ran and ran and ran – anywhere, everywhere.

"AAAAAAAAHHH!"

The students started rousing. Hordes of kids ran out of their common rooms and stared at the mania that was Harry Potter.

"AAAAAAAAHHH!"

Cracks snaked across the corridor walls, along the ceiling, and along the cobblestone floor. The torches burst and their light was no more.

"AAAAAAAAHHH!"

They say he was like him – his friends say he was like him. Draco said he was like him.

Who was he?

"AAAAAAAAHHH!"

Harry ran and ran and ran.

"Minerva! What in Merlin's Barmees' going on?" Professor Sprout shrieked in panic as she lumbered over to the Transfiguration professor wearing a pale-blue nightgown sprinkled with baby _Mimbulus mimbletonia _and a mismatched nightcap.

"I don't know, Pomona!" McGonagall replied in a high voice. "Students! Remain where you are!" McGonagall instructed the kids with a desperate air of someone knowing the futility of their words. "I'll go call the headmas—Albus! What's happening?"

Dumbledore came into sight as she spoke, and though he remained silent and followed the boisterous noise of explosions and Harry's screams, his countenance looked alarmed.

Harry's face was shining with tears and screwed up in rage and hurt and disillusionment.

"AAAAAAAAAHHH!"

He had unknowingly made his way to the Quidditch pitch and ran towards the centre of the green pitch in the night. He screamed and cried and screamed. Why did they always compare him to Voldemort? Was he really like him? Was he the same as Voldemort?

Neglecting to heed McGonagall's warning, the whole of Gryffindor House and the rest of the school ran towards the Quidditch pitch to see what the commotion was about, whispering and muttering fiercely amongst each other.

Harry staggered about in the middle of the pitch, pulling his hair, his teeth bared and his screams filling the nippy night.

"AAAAAAAAHHH!"

Dumbledore and the other professors – Slughorn was nowhere to be seen – arrived at the pitch, followed shortly by the rest of the school, among whom the Slytherins promptly gave the deranged boy on the field disparaging but admittedly accurate, and some students were earmarking him for St. Mungo's.

"What's wrong with him?"

"I think a fly flew into his ear – not a nice feeling, mind you. Can drive you crazy like that…"

"Potter finally gone to the clouds?"

"More like the-"

But what Harry was more like, the speaker's companion did not find out, for at that moment, out of nowhere, there was a sucking, whistling sound and the sky was lit up with a fiery brilliance as a giant tower of fire billowed from Harry's mouth and reached the height of the goal hoops, filling the Quidditch pitch with heat. It was an absolute monstrosity.

Harry cried and yelled. He turned around and, with another sucking, whistling noise, released another humongous monster of fire that rose into the sky. The stadium seats vibrated on their mounts, and the grass blades of the pitch were oriented in Harry's direction, succumbing to the immense magical power upon which he was calling.

Dumbledore followed another orange spurt of fire unfurl into the air, his stunned, piercing blue eyes shining yellow. One of the most powerful living wizards in the world seemed to have no clue what to do…

He had his dreams, he had his tongue, he had his rage, he had his attraction to Draco, and he had had his seventh Horcrux in his scar for nearly his entire life. Were they any different?

"AAAAAAAAHHH!" A sucking, whistling sound and a fourth tower of fire billowed from Harry's mouth and died out again with a resounding growl that shook the Quidditch stadium.

"Harry!" It was Draco. He fought through the dense crowd of students, pushing bodies out of the way, and as he arrived at the front Dumbledore held up a halting hand.

"I can speak to him, Professor!" Draco pleaded desperately.

Dumbledore wrenched his gaze from Harry and looked down at Draco.

"Mr Malfoy, you will do no such thing!" McGonagall shrieked, looking horrified, her hand to her chest as she looked back in horror at the small figure of Harry in the middle of the pitch.

Draco gazed up at Dumbledore earnestly, grey eyes begging.

Dumbledore remained wordless for a moment, looking utterly helpless. Then, finally, he soundlessly made way for Draco to pass. "Be careful, Mr Malfoy."

Draco nodded hurriedly and hurtled towards Harry.

"Albus!" cried McGonagall, as he gave him her most severe glare yet. "Mr Malfoy!" she called, but Draco was gone.

"Harry!"

"AAAAAAAAHHH!" Another colossal column of fire jetted out of Harry's mouth, and more heat filled the pitch and more tears flowed down Harry's cheeks.

"Harry!"

"AAAAHHHAAA!"

"Harry!"

"AAAAHHHAAA, Draco...!"

Harry whirled around, stumbling, and released a sixth enormous jet of fire, the orange luminance reflected in his shining face.

Draco floundered backwards, throwing his hands up against the bright light and the wave of heat that rippled across the air. He started running again when he reached Harry he threw his arms around him from behind him.

"Harry! What are you doing?" he yelled.

Harry cried and screamed, trying to shake himself out of Draco's hold. "Everyone's saying it!"

Draco held firmly onto him. "Saying what, Harry?"

A sucking and whistling sound and a seventh tower of fire answered him. It was the same fiery shape of a snake that Voldemort had procured back in Malfoy Manor when he and Dumbledore were duelling, and now that the flames were unmitigated by a ceiling, they rose high up in the air out of the Quidditch stands.

"Aaahhaaa, Draco..."

Draco twisted Harry around. "Harry, what's happening to you?" He wiped the tears on Harry's cheeks. Harry dropped to the ground. Draco held him fiercely as he fell down beneath him. The fireworks were no more.

Harry cried into Draco's neck as Draco rubbed his back consolingly.

"Eweywa says, eweyfi feefs pwelling me I'm lihim... I gan't greep doing zis..." Harry gave a huge sniff and pulled back to look into Draco's face. "Ron said so, the Sorting Hat said so. I was able to speak to snakes all my life. Everyone thought I was the heir of Slytherin. This morning your portrait of Slytherin said he could see a part of Voldemort in me! It doesn't matter if I lost that piece of him inside me, he's still there..."

Draco shushed him. "I know what the Dark Lord is capable of – I've seen the horrible things he has done, and I'm telling you you're nothing like the Dark Lord, Harr. Are you listening to me? You're nothing like him. You said the Dark Lord can't love but you can. You can love me because you do, right?"

Harry looked down at Draco, his tears blurring his vision, his chest heaving, his sobs filling the night.

"The Dark Lord isn't loveable, Harry. But you are, because I love you."

That stopped the tears and sniffs from Harry.

Draco's silver eyes gleaming up at him brightly, his hair spread out on the grass, a beautiful, radiant, watery smile beaming up at him with loving pride… And for a moment, Harry thought this was all for which he lived.

Draco's hands pulled him down and the boy kissed him for the first time ever.

There was a collective gasp from the crowd that had spilled out into the pitch. McGonagall's wrinkled jaw dropped and she held onto Sprout for balance. Professor Sprout's eyes popped out of her face and she snapped her leg up in an incomplete kick. Flitwick, who was sitting on Parvati's shoulder, was suddenly attacked by a coughing fit, while Parvati's lips trembled as she fanned herself, sharing gleaming glances with her friend Lavender and her Ravenclaw twin sister Padma.

The Hufflepuffs were in ecstasy. The Ravenclaws were already discussing the pair's previous encounters for any questionably overt shows of antagonism. The Gryffindors were spluttering in incredulity. And the Slytherins looked utterly shell-shocked as though this changed things as they knew it.

"You don't kill, Harry. You're not ghostly pale and have red slits for eyes. You're human and that's why you're beautiful." Draco idly ran his hand through Harry's jet-black hair as he looked past it up at the stars in the vast, velvet sky. His other hand was softly rubbing Harry's back up and down. He seemed not to care for the hundreds of eyes goggling at them from the entrance and the hushed, speculative whispers. He simply held and comforted Harry as Harry's chest rose and fell raggedly against his own, as his moist, stilted breath hit his neck. But his breathing began to even out gradually and his sniffs grew scarce, and his erection was pressing into Draco's groin for the second time in as many days. And if Draco was repulsed by it he did not show it, for there was an amused smirk on his lips.

"I guess you're okay now, yeah?" Draco chuckled.

Harry nodded against his neck before he wiped the remnants of his tears and pulled back to look down at Draco. He just looked at him: white-blond hair spread out, shell-pink lips slightly parted, grey eyes looking... genuinely worried.

"What?" Draco asked softly, his forehead creasing a little.

Harry shook his head silently and sniffed as he sat up, blanching upon noticing the entire school watching them motionlessly. He fumbled and floundered until he had separated himself fully from Draco, who stood up from the grass as he imperially stared at the hundreds of eyes watching them.

"Wow, Potter, you can certainly draw a crowd."

Harry merely gaped at all of them. Then he remembered Ron and Hermione. He had... Yes, he had to go find them. "I have to find Ron and Hermione." He started down the pitch, trying to swallow his trepidation.

Draco followed him. "Potter, you do realize what this means for me? For me to have lain there with you in front of the entire school, it looks like?" he finished off with a grimace, fearfully eyeing the crowd.

Harry stopped sharply and looked at Draco, who also stopped and looked at him squarely. The blond seemed a little unsettled. "I can't go back to the Slytherin dungeons. If I go back, I'm practically dead. I kissed you. Merlin, you're officially the first bloke I've ever kissed…"

Harry blushed, remembering the feel of that brief, all too brief, kiss on the lips, which he had not even able to enjoy fully since it had been all too bloody fleeting. His eyes imprudently darted to Draco's thin lips and back to his grey eyes. There was an honour in that, right? To be Draco's first? _God, what am I thinking...?_

"You mean you think somebody will actually try to kill you again?"

Draco sighed desperately and nodded.

They stood there in silence for a moment, ignoring the countless eyes scrutinizing them together with their furious mutterings.

Draco braved another look at the watching crowd before turning back to Harry. "It's over, Harry. Whether it's true or not, people will think we're together and the Slytherins will be going crazy. I can't return to the dungeons. I just can't."

Harry's stomach plunged to the grass and floated back up at the word 'together'. He swallowed. "What are you going to do?"

Draco's head whipped up from the ground. "What are you talking about? You got me in this mess and you're going to get me out! This is not my fault!"

Despite the vehement words, Harry could plainly see that Draco was scared. "Fine. We can talk to Dumbledore about moving you to, like, some other room in this huge castle. There has to be."

Draco looked agitated and edgy. "It's not that simple, Potter," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Anyone could easily cast a Killing Curse in the middle of class or in the Great Hall while I'm eating my breakfast." Draco scuffed the grass pitch with his boot. "I'm done."

Harry's hand came up to Draco's shoulder.

"Don't. Touch me," Draco growled out in a low voice, and Harry immediately withdrew his hand. "Aren't you listening? You're making it worse!"

Harry stood there quietly, at a loss as to how to deal with Draco. He looked at the people gathered at the mouth of the pitch. It was practically the whole school. Dumbledore and the rest of the professors were also looking on. There was lots of movement – people gossiping, muttering, pointing, speculating. Dumbledore was staring straight at him, his body unmoving, his hands clasped together in front of him benignly. Sprout had a hand to her mouth and Harry could see her eyes were the size of golf balls.

"Don't worry, Draco. We'll find a way. There just has to be."

Draco looked up from the ground and studied Harry quietly for a while.

"What?" Harry asked, growing a little self-conscious, his limbs suddenly feeling loosely attached to him.

Draco just shook his head. "Let's just go," he sighed, but he was wincing at the crowd.

Harry again had to stop his hand from coming anywhere near Draco. "Come on." He led them to the intimidating crowd, the fervent mutterings of which became louder and louder as they came closer. After what felt like eons later he and Draco stood in front of Dumbledore. Draco's face was closed off, his eyes were hooded and his arms crossed.

"I'm sorry, Professor Dumbledore," Harry mumbled.

Dumbledore frowned. "What for, Mr Potter?"

Harry kept his gaze on the ground. "For—for freaking out, for going crazy."

Hearing this, the gawking students' collective voices picked up volume. Harry continued to study the ground, not wishing to see the reactions of his schoolmates. Next to him Draco remained in his artistically still position with a blank face.

"I told you he was the heir of Slytherin! Bloody fire dragons...!"

"Did you see that fire he was shooting out? A human flamethrower!"

"Knew this day would when the Boy Who Lived finally lost it..."

"Are they together now?"

"When on Merlin's bloody earth did they become involved, Lavvy? We should have known about this!"

"Remember yesterday morning outside the Great Hall? M-hm. That said it all. Harry Potter lending Draco Malfoy anything... and Malfoy giving it back...!"

The headmaster held up his hand and the noise died down.

"And indeed you should be!" McGonagall yelled heatedly, with a tremor and a touch of sympathy in her voice. "What has gotten into you, Mr Potter?" Harry thought her heart could not take much more drama after witnessing a Killing Curse intended for one of her students only yesterday and today another student going ballistic.

"Perhaps we should to take this up in my office, Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked gently.

Harry looked up. "Professor, I have to find Ron and Hermione. I think they're hurt where they are."

Dumbledore raised his silvery eyebrow. "Of course, Mr Potter. Well, you can lead the way." He gave Harry a minute smile before he turned to the students.

"Students, please proceed to your Houses in an orderly fashion. Your professors will accompany you. Perhaps it would be prudent to cast a rudimentary Shield Charm upon your persons as I imagine there are to be a few overhead hazards." He turned to Harry. "We can't say you weren't thorough!" He chuckled lowly, but Harry could not conjure an appropriate reaction to this and so did not.

He, Draco and Dumbledore straggled back while the crowd dissipated and the professors returned to their quarters. Afterwards they started making their way to the Room of Requirement.

Harry had done quite a number on the castle when he had been in his fit of rage. They found Ron and Hermione covered in dust and glass, trying to find their way in the dilapidated hallway. They had only minor injuries to the head from the fall after Harry had thrown them back just by the sheer fury behind his voice, just as Voldemort had done in his dream to Draco.

"We can find our own way, thanks. We've done plenty of trips there for you," said Ron, when Harry attempted to help them walk and escort them to the infirmary. Ron grabbed Hermione and the two went off after fashioning Harry with a blazing, blue-eyed glare. Hermione, suffering from a mild concussion and an aching back, said nothing and allowed herself to be led away.

Harry, Draco and Dumbledore headed to the headmaster's office to discuss the ramifications of Harry's hysteria. Along the way Dumbledore intermittently repaired the hallways partly as much as he could, and with every wave of his wand Harry's shoulder's dropped a little lower.

A few minutes later they entered Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore went around his desk and sat in his high-back chair. Seeing that Harry looked awkward and uncertain if he should take the only seat in front of his desk, Dumbledore had waved his wand and a second chair identical to the first appeared. Harry and Draco took their seats.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Well, this recent development has certainly caused a few ripples that we need to deal with."

Harry wiped his hands on his thighs. Draco was growing increasingly agitated.

"What happened?" asked Phineas Nigellus Black quite boldly, apparently not bothering with pretence or preamble.

"A minor turn of events, Phineas – nothing to be perturbed about," Dumbledore replied dismissively. Phineas appeared not to buy this at all and looked rather insulted. "First of all, Mr Malfoy, since you were – dare I say – more than effective in calming Mr Potter down-" Both boys flushed intensely. "-and considering the volatile suspicions of Slytherin House towards you, we have to look into moving you from your current premises. I must confess that for a while I had nurtured a dream that the apparent departure of your famous antagonism would have served to unite the school, especially considering the times in which we find ourselves." Dumbledore gave a small, wistful smile. He then cleared his throat again. "As it stands, you've been seen being intimate with Mr Potter. It's only natural to assume that the school will presume the both of you are in a relationship."

Draco tossed his hair and looked squarely at his headmaster while Harry just squirmed in his seat.

"As such, it is likely your life is in danger, Mr Malfoy. You will have to be moved to a neutral location within the castle and have your lessons changed such that you do not attend any of your classes with the Slytherins. Of course this does not guarantee that you will not be attacked but it is the best we can do. I will personally escort you to the dungeons tonight so we can collect your belongings and have you moved."

"Yes, Professor," Draco muttered.

Dumbledore nodded.

"In your case, Mr Potter..." Dumbledore paused. He studied Harry closely. Harry was meeting Dumbledore's eyes but they only wished to look down again. "Harry, I admit I have never seen such magic you displayed tonight from a fifteen-year-old. You possess immense power – rare power, Harry. How did you come about unleashing it, if I may ask?"

Harry averted his gaze downwards and swallowed. He did not speak for a while.

"What did he unleash?" asked Black excitedly, his eyes bouncing between Dumbledore and Harry. "Oh, Dumbledore, for Salazar's sake, indulge me just once, won't you?"

"I'll go wait out-" began Draco.

"Yes, do spare us from your presence, please," rapped Black irritably, looking quickly back at Harry.

"No, don't go," said Harry, glaring at Black, which only elevated Black's delight at him.

Draco raised an eyebrow before lowering himself back into his seat, also shooting a glare at Black.

Harry gave a small sigh. "Ron said that I was like Voldemort." Draco flinched. Dumbledore's eyes shot to him and back to Harry. "And just yesterday, when-" Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair, growing two pink spots on his cheeks. "-when I was leaving the dungeons in—in the morning, the portrait of Slytherin started speaking to me. It said it could see the shattered image of his heir inside me... I—When Ron said it just like Draco had said it, just like so many other times I have heard, have been accused of it... I just lost it. My anger got the better of me... again."

"Salazar's portrait told me," breathed Black very quietly, tears swimming in his eyes, immense pride radiating from him such that it made his muddy background glow like copper. "He sees him in you…"

Dumbledore nodded, giving Harry a smile. "So it was the culmination of you hearing the same references to you being the same as Voldemort."

Harry nodded.

"Well, I've never of anything more ridiculous," said Dumbledore and from then on lapsed into a lengthy spell of laughter.

Harry's head whipped up, frowning at Dumbledore's laughing face. He looked aside at Draco, who seemed to be recalculating Dumbledore's IQ. And by the raised eyebrow and appraising look Draco was shooting at Dumbledore, it was easy to see that his opinion of the man was undergoing a major and rather negative – or perhaps more negative – overhaul.

Dumbledore continued chuckling, his eyes upon Harry bright and merrily. Harry could only respond with a wobbly smile.

The portraits above them were scratching various body parts, looking aside, apparently embarrassed by something. Black, who had so recently been incandescent with admiration at Harry, was now frowning down at Dumbledore as though he suspected Dumbledore had finally lost the plot.

Dumbledore's amusement gradually faded. He cleared his throat, resuming a serious air again. He let a few seconds of silence pass. "I reiterate my wish for us to exploit this, Harry. We could manipulate this rage you have inside you and turn it into a form in which we can use it."

Harry felt apprehensive about unleashing that... anger and rage for any reason – it scared him, it was that simple. He did not want to feel like that again, especially just after experiencing that cathartic moment of sorts with Draco. He did not want to be observed and assessed for this part of him, to have it taken advantage of. And most of all, he did not want to satisfy the words Voldemort spoke in Malfoy Manor just before he had cast the Killing Curse on him. He just desperately wanted to believe in Draco's words, breath in their hope. He did not want to consider that dark part of him at all. He would be better off ignoring it. No – he'd be better off believing it did not exist in the first place.

"I don't know, Professor..."

"Unleash it!" yelled Black proudly. "Don't keep it in, dear boy! Unleash it!"

"Phineas," said Dumbledore sternly. "Thank you very much indeed." He turned back to Harry. "You wish not to explore this avenue that could potentially transform you into a formidable wizard, enhance our collective chances of victory?"

"Can't believe this..." Draco muttered, sounding incredulous.

Harry and Dumbledore turned to him. "Mr Malfoy?"

Draco turned to the headmaster and gave him a wide, light-switch smile. 'Nothing, Professor," he lilted sweetly in his aristocratic tenor.

Dumbledore turned back to Harry, looking expectant.

Harry sighed. "I'll try, sir," he agreed reluctantly, and saw Draco shaking his head woefully.

"Yesss!" hissed Black, punching a hand furtively in the air, a gesture which could not have looked less becoming of someone who appeared as refined as he did, with silver gloves and pointed moustaches and all.

Dumbledore smiled. "Excellent. We will incorporate this into your training, which I think should be speeded up."

This reminded Harry of something. "Sir, do you think Voldemort has infiltrated the Ministry?" he asked, remembering that day's article in the _Daily Prophet_.

Dumbledore had that resigned look again. "It seems so. I suspect Thicknesse to be under the Imperius Curse. It takes an uncommonly skilled wizard – forgive me – to tell when one is under the influence of mind control, particularly that of a superior and subtle spell as Imperius."

"But don't you have, like... a sort of metal detector equivalent like a, hem hem-" How could Harry articulate this to wizards? "-like a checking system at the entrance of the Ministry or something?"

Dumbledore frowned, looking intrigued. "Metal detector?"

"A what?" asked Black, as though he regularly participated in conversations with the guests of Dumbledore's office.

Draco turned to Harry.

"Yes, it's a contraption that beeps when you have something metallic on you. I thought the Ministry would have one for illegal curses on their workers or something – a checking system..."

Dumbledore seemed to be seriously considering this idea. "Metal detector, you say? Stationed at the entrance of the building?"

Harry nodded, his lips twitching. He looked aside at Draco and also found well-veiled curiosity in his face. Why was it all of a sudden easier to read Draco?

"Preposterous," said Black at once, but looked none the wiser.

Dumbledore ignored Black. "Well, it might certainly perform better than the current Stealth Sensory Spell upon it. I'll have to look into that, though my influence has begun dwindling since last year."

Draco cleared his throat.

Harry knew why. "Because the Minister still refuses to belief that Voldemort is back," he said flatly.

"Precisely," Dumbledore said heavily. "Suffice it to say that Mr Fudge was two Sickles away from rolling on the floor when I had suggested to him that his advisor was under the Imperius Curse. I suspect Thicknesse is the one who convinced him to announce to the Wizarding community at large this crude 'Bracing Bash' that is to take place on the full moon."

Harry shook his head woefully. He had never liked Fudge much but had not disliked him either. But now, with his refusal to hear nothing of his and Dumbledore's words, Harry lost all favour for the man.

Dumbledore's eyes darted to Draco and his wry smile faded before he cleared his throat. "Yes, we have covered what we needed to. I'm sure Mr Potter wants to check up on his friends while I accompany Mr Malfoy to the dungeons."

Dumbledore stood up and led them out of his office. Harry headed to the infirmary while Draco and Dumbledore disappeared in the dungeons. When Dumbledore had suggested this back in his office, Harry had, for a moment, indulged in the thought of Draco moving into Gryffindor House. But he then thought Draco would have fainted at that, and Ron would not be too thrilled himself, never mind the reaction of the rest of the Gryffindors. What Harry did think of it? It would be the best thing next to Draco kissing him in back on that Quidditch pitch.

As he walked, Harry looked at the damage he had done: bricks were strewn on the corridor floor, there were huge cracks in the walls, and the glass had been blasted clean off the windowpanes. Indeed he had been quite thorough.

He slipped inside the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen. The last time he had been in here had been the previous year after he returned from the graveyard. He went over to the two beds containing Ron and Hermione, who had been talking softly. Hermione had a bandage wrapped around her head and a few minor scratched on her face. Ron only had scratches. When he noticed Harry approaching them he scowled, looked the other way and fumbled with his sheets until he was completely hidden under them.

Harry smiling sadly at Hermione and ignored Ron. Hermione returned it and patted the bed where he should sit. Harry knew he was already forgiven by Hermione. He sat. He did not like that he could rely on Hermione's sympathy – he should not presume it, should not get used to it. It made him sick to think how easily she forgave and forgot.

They did not speak for a moment.

Hermione was watching Harry, who was studying his hands.

"I'm sorry." It was the second time these words passed his lips to his friends. What was wrong with him? Why was he always hurting them? And for what? For Draco? "I've been saying that a lot these days," he laughed, in a self-depreciating way.

Hermione gave a dim smile, and as tenuous as it was, fell shortly. "Ron shouldn't have said the things he said – he was wrong to do so," she added firmly, loudly enough that Ron must have heard it under his sheets, which did not move at all, however. Hermione huffed, her bushy mane vibrating in annoyance. "I forgive you, Harry, and I'm sure Ron will after some time... What happened to you, Harry? Why did you react so violently?"

Harry explained to Hermione the reason behind his rage. He did not tell her what he – or rather Draco had done to him, however. Ron had not emerged from under his sheets when he had been about to leave, but Harry was sure he was listening. He also apologized to the white sheets as well before leaving. Ron could do with his apology whatever he liked. He stepped out of the infirmary about an hour later and made his way to Gryffindor Tower.

Along the way he had momentarily entertained the idea of heading down to the dungeons to Draco and Dumbledore. Why, he did not clearly know, but he felt that he could at least apologize to Ron by denying himself Draco – it would make Harry feel better at the least. He sighed despondently. There were so many forces against... them…

'Them' – this had a new ring to it. 'Us' – that got Harry's pulse soaring.

He remembered that peck on the lips Draco had given him before the Slytherin had taken him in his arms, comforting him. For Draco to actually do that – comfort him – Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, Golden Boy, Boy Wonder – that had to mean to something. That had to mean he had affected Draco – that Draco considered everything between them, that he had listened to him – listened to his confession, sympathized with him after his rage. Draco had to care about him to do all of that, it was just pure logic.

Draco said he loved him… Harry felt a wave of heat and sweat travel down his body. Draco said he loved him. But... love had so many definitions. Harry swallowed, his heart thumping. What did Draco mean when he had said that? In what sense? Was there multiple sense of the word? '...Because I love you.' What did it mean? Harry loved Ron and Hermione and Ginny and Dean and Seamus and Sirius and Lupin and many other people. How did Draco mean it?

Harry's eyes darted from side to side as he looked down at the corridor floor, trying to solve this conundrum, trying to stave off this bulging hope in his chest – to deny it, to dismiss it with everything he could… It just meant he loved Harry in a fellow brotherly sort of way – agape love. Draco had just been trying to mollify him and used the most effective words. It was just his imagination...

Harry released a heavy sigh. It was simple – he needed to find out. _No, no, no! My friends are in the bloody infirmary! I—I couldn't! I just can't!_ But he knew that familiar feeling – that feeling of almost immoral-feeling excitement, of devious indulgence – self-indulgence – to indulge in Draco once more, to open that pocket of air that was Draco's aura – his inherent existence, experiencing it again, even just for a little while.

Harry sighed sharply again, royally conflicted, but he knew he had lost the moment the idea had slipped into his mind. Now it was just a matter of considering it, all in indignation and denial, of course.

Where were Draco and Dumbledore? That former name had a new ring to it somehow. If he found them, what would he do? Close the door behind him and just be in that new room.

Then? Talk it out. Talk it out...yeah... That sounded... good... and scary for some reason.

Dammit, Harry, what bloody hell is wrong with you? Two nights in a bloody row...

Harry headed for the Slytherin dungeons for the second time in as many days.

He wanted to know what Draco loved about him.


	22. Major Confession

**Chapter 22**

**Major Confession**

Harry was on the fifth floor following Dumbledore, Draco and his levitating possessions. He had hurried back to Gryffindor Tower to fetch his Invisibility Cloak beforehand. He had enjoyed a chuckle when Dumbledore had first attempted to house Draco on the second floor, whereupon Draco had expressed his outrage in no uncertain terms at sharing a floor with any members of the Hufflepuff species. This was why they had put three floors between them and the Hufflepuffs. They proceeded down the hallway, Dumbledore's wand trained on the enormous cargo hovering in front of them.

When they were nearly halfway down the corridor Dumbledore stopped and faced a blank stretch of wall, Draco and his luggage coming to a halt behind him as well. The headmaster mumbled something under his breath that Harry was sure he had heard the previous year in the second task of the Triwizard Cup tournament, when Dumbledore had been conversing with the Merchieftainess: Mermish. In the same manner that the door to the Room of Requirement appeared, the wall shimmered and gave way to a side corridor wide enough to let Draco's things squeeze through. The two of them and the levitated mass slipped inside. Harry followed.

A single door broke the dull, dusty expanse of the passage, which was extremely short. Dumbledore and Draco stood in front of the door. Upon it hung a portrait of a young, attractive mermaid perched on the tip of a rock, the rest of his submerged in water. The dusk air and glimmering horizon made up the background. Dumbledore spoke in Mermish again to her and the mermaid gave a dispassionate smile before letting the door slowly creak open. He gestured for Draco to enter, and when he did so the mermaid made cooing sounds and winked flirtatiously at him.

It was not exactly jealousy per se that suddenly overcame Harry but a mixture of it and... indignant protectiveness at seeing someone acting like that towards Draco, together with embarrassment and disappointment at feeling that way because of what something that was not even real did. _For the love of all things magical... _

Draco merely gave the mermaid a raised eyebrow as he proceeded into the dark room while Dumbledore and his belongings followed him inside, at which point the portrait closed right after the last item hovered inside.

Harry did not want to surprise Draco again and be that indecently intrusive again, especially considering Draco's current emotional fragility. Harry crouched in the passageway, contemplating removing his Invisibility Cloak before Dumbledore emerged from the room so that his sudden appearance seemed less sinister. He mustered some courage and ripped off the Cloak, standing naked in the dim passage, wincing in anticipation of the reaction to his unexpected presence.

The mermaid looked mildly surprise at his appearance and merely smiled at him, though with more dispassion than she had had for Draco. Harry decided to remain in the passage rather than enter the room. If Draco did not want him inside then he would not have to go to the trouble of kicking him out he as he had attempted to back in his Prefect's room in the Slytherin dungeons. Harry did not know what he was going to do about Dumbledore.

He waited, his nerves getting to him with every passing second. He explored the passage in the hiatus. It was short as a few metres from where he stood, and there hung just two torches along the wall. Harry wiped the sweat on his palms on his thighs.

The door then swung open and into the passageway stepped Dumbledore, who caught sight of him and looked inadequately surprised.

"Harry," said Dumbledore, his forehead creasing slightly. He caught the door before it could close.

Harry flushed to the tips of his hair. "Professor," he mumbled, looking down, his fingers playing with each other in embarrassment and nervousness. He so failed to catch Dumbledore's smile as the man regarded him.

"Good evening again," Dumbledore said. "I presume you're here to see Mr Malfoy?"

The blood rushed to his ears and neck. Harry cleared his throat meekly and forced himself to look up. "Yes, sir."

Dumbledore nodded, his smile still lingering. He clapped once. "Well then, I shall give the two of you some privacy." He assumed a gleeful expression. "Yes, I think it's time for my favourite cup of hot chocolate." Dumbledore chuckled cheerfully with a blue-eyed twinkle at Harry. Before sweeping out of the corridor he let Harry catch the door and disappeared into the castle.

_There isn't a dull moment with him…_ Smiling and shaking his head at the eccentric man, Harry turned back and looked into the now lit room. He could see only a few of Draco's things deposited next to a wall. Harry swallowed bracingly before proceeding through the door and into the room. He did not let the door close, lest Draco received his presence not too kindly.

"Draco?"

He spotted the boy standing next to his large bed, albeit it was smaller than his previous one back in his private room. Arms folded, Draco was looking around at the room with disdain written all over his face: his nose was wrinkled and his upper lip curled back as he was apparently overwhelmed by the distastefulness of his new living quarters.

Draco heard his footsteps and turned towards the door. He did not look surprised as he had had most likely heard him talking with Dumbledore outside.

"Potter," Draco said with a fair amount of exasperation, as he paced around and studied the room.

The tone of exasperation made Harry feel like a thorn in Draco's side. In wounded pride, all of a sudden he felt ready to leave immediately before he could impress his apparently exhausting presence on Draco yet again. But Harry bolstered himself, thinking about Draco's earlier words when they had lain there on that Quidditch pitch, those three words, how much more they meant than his own four words earlier, 'I love you'. 'I can love you' – vastly different – seemingly incomparable.

Harry drew further into the room and closed the door behind him. He missed the look of surrender Draco had shot his way and his small sigh.

"So, Potter," Draco said with ostensive neutrality, "what brings you back to me?"

Harry nearly gasped at that last word. He studied the bed and luggage for their secrets. He then turned back to Draco and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He tried again. "I…"

Draco finally stopped evaluating the room, removing the wrinkle from his nose. He stopped in front of Harry and gazed squarely at him with a neutral, almost blank face. His arms were still crossed.

Harry felt suffocated. Bloody hell, there was no room to escape and nowhere to look now. Draco was relentlessly watching him, standing with that eerie, artistic stillness again.

Harry's lips parted once more to issue a semblance of evidence that he was still a competent being and converser, but Draco beat him to the word.

"Why do you allow Dumbledore to manipulate you like that?"

Harry frowned, thrown off by the stark irrelevance of the words to what he wanted to talk about. "What?"

Draco did not reply.

"What do you mean I allow Dumbledore to manipulate me?" Harry what Draco meant – vaguely – but he knew.

Draco stared at him, almost glaring, for a moment. Was his seemingly angry on Harry's behalf…?

"I think you know what I mean," Draco deadpanned. The passion in his eyes was suddenly withdrawn as though he had chastised himself. "Clearly you didn't want to 'exploit this rage' within you for Dumbledore's gain but you nevertheless agreed after he sweetly coerced you into it."

"So what?" Harry said a little defensively. "As he said, it could help us in the fight against Voldemort, I was agreeing to that as I should be." For whom was Harry defensive? Himself or Dumbledore?

"So you agree you were coerced?" Draco pressed on swiftly.

"I'm not agreeing to anything! Look, I didn't come here to talk to you about that, okay?" Nobody else knew that Dumbledore was manipulative better than he did, and Harry did not like how his tolerance of it was being exposed so glaringly. It made him start to question his vague and unquestioning acceptance of it, and he did not like that. He did not want to think of Dumbledore in a bad light, even if so many things lately were forcing him to do so.

He wanted to hold onto that image of calming and protective omniscience. Of an emboldening smile and twinkling blue eyes. Of that superior, encouraging presence. He did not want to think negatively of Albus Dumbledore – he was his headmaster, his supporter, his champion, and his friend. Harry had never seen Dumbledore speak to other students as he spoke to him. Of course Dumbledore spoke cheerfully and deferentially to the others, but it was not with the same fondness that shone in his eyes whenever he looked down at Harry. It was not with the same pride he spoke his name.

And Harry did not want to disappoint him, did not want to disappoint the one person out of a few who had unwavering faith in him, who looked at him not as the Boy Who Lived but simply as an another child (at least mostly). Harry inwardly insisted that it was only circumstances that forced Dumbledore to do what he did.

Draco was shaking his head woefully. Pity and even a trace of disappointment glittered in his silver eyes as he gave Harry a slow, rather mocking once-over. "Merlin, are you the right lapdog or what..."

Harry was this close to walking out and slamming the door after him. "I'm not his lapdog," he ground out, his agitation tightening his voice. But if were to be true with himself, he would admit Draco was not entirely in the wrong.

Draco shrugged off his words. "So what was this thing you wanted to discuss?" And suddenly there was a guarded look about his eyes now, and Harry thought Draco knew exactly what he wanted to discuss.

Harry struggle a little to get off the defensive at the change of subject. His mind took a few moments to stand down and start refocusing on what he wanted to put forward. But he felt that the issue was so out of place now with this new rift between them. To dispel this he let a few moments of silence pass and said diplomatically, "I don't want to fight with you – we don't have to always end up screaming our heads off."

"Then try not to display your inability to think for yourself," Draco retorted.

And back to square one. Harry sighed sharply, glaring at the other boy but trying not to say add to the nasty mood.

"I want to talk about us!" he said, with rushed determination. He wanted a reaction from Draco to get him off the Dumbledore issue. And it worked. Draco frowned and blinked rapidly. "What's this 'us'?" he rapped, looking offended.

"'Us' being what we did—no-" Ah, and Harry took unexpected, sweet relish with this exonerating correction: "-What _you_ did on that Quidditch pitch earlier on." He could skip and hop right then. Justice!

Draco kept his head down as a livid pink suffused his cheeks. "What about it?" came the tightly spoken reply.

Harry was enjoying himself too much at the expense of Draco's embarrassment. Well, Draco had been the one to initiate that kiss, had he not? It was only natural he faced the consequences. Harry grinned liberally, seeing that Draco could not see him as he was studying the floor raptly. Harry took his time to say his next words. He looked around at the room pompously, his chest puffing. Is this what it felt like to have the advantage? Not to be at the wrong end of an embarrassing comment, to which he was vastly used? Harry could definitely get used to this. He took a deep, proud breath before turning back to Draco, smiling madly, studying every taut line of Draco's body. Draco looked pretty when he blushed, Harry observed.

When Harry did not speak Draco's snapped up, and the other boy caught his grin before he could rein it in.

"Well, Potter?" Draco snapped.

Harry tried to fight down his smile. But then his amusement suddenly vanished, "Er, well..." replaced with awkwardness and nervousness.

And of course, swiftly, Draco latched onto to this for dear life. "You certainly have a way with words."

There was silence.

The two boys looked at each other.

Harry's lips twitched. Draco's chin quivered.

They both burst into laughter. The desperation of Draco's comeback was indeed laughable.

Draco then sat on the edge of his bed and clucked his tongue, possibly in self-admonition again at letting himself go like that with Harry. He cleared his throat and looked back at Harry with a blank but less grave face. "So?" he said shortly. His arms were still crossed, and he had resumed that still posture that was beginning to freak Harry out.

Harry stepped further into the room a little. His arms felt as lanky as those of an ape and inherently clumsy again.

"I wanted to – er – know what... know what you meant..." There, it was said. If only he could stop squirming inside.

"What I meant with the kiss?" Draco asked.

Harry shook his head vigorously, staving off an incoming blush. "No. Er, what you—what you meant with your words," he stuttered, swallowing several times.

"My words...? Could you remind me?"

_Bloody Slytherin._

"Ysetheiyulvmi."

"Come again?"

Harry knew what Draco was doing. He was deliberately torturing him. Even though he asked with that innocent, polite, sweet tenor, Harry could tell Draco was enjoying every moment of this vengeance. Drawing on his Gryffindor bravery, Harry hurriedly and slightly vehemently said, "You said that you loved me."

Draco let the silence rein after the ring of Harry's words.

And it reined.

…And reined. It was merciless.

Harry finally looked up, his green eyes forceful, expectant and daring in an attempt to assuage his anxiety.

Draco tilted his head to the side, looking at Harry contemplatively.

"What I meant by 'I love you'?" he said softly.

Harry refused to look down cowardly. He was a Gryffindor. He nodded, clenching his jaw, his eyes smouldering.

"Look, Harry-" Harry was already closing off defensively. His heart thumped madly against his chest. "-I said that because I wanted to show you that you're not like the Dark Lord-"

"Say his name," Harry demanded. It was an uncharacteristic, defensive, indignant instruction. His arms succumbed to the urge to cross in front of his chest. How hot the rejection pierced.

"What?"

"Say – his name."

Draco looked at him with only puzzlement in his face. "Why should I?"

Harry glared at Draco, at a loss for words, but his speech soon returned. "Because you admit you're afraid of him if you don't."

"But I am afraid of him," Draco simply reasoned, frowning at Harry as though he found him strange.

Harry did not know where to look. He fought against tapping his heel, against grinding his jaw, against hyperventilating... against tearing up.

"Just say his name," Harry ordered again through a clenched jaw, all in pathetic desperation.

Draco studied him silently for a moment, his head tilting sideways again. "Look, Potter, we here in the Wizarding world do certain things and don't do others, and saying the Dark Lord's name is one of those. It's that simple. It's considerate towards other people and it's respectful." Draco's voice faltered at the last word.

"So you still respect him after he raped you?" Harry charged aggressively.

Draco's face darkened. He glared at him in that soft, calm that his father could. He slowly rose from the bed, uncrossing his legs. "Listen, Potter, you can go all defensive because I didn't mean what you want me to back on the Quidditch pitch but you did not have to say that."

"But it's true, isn't it?"

"You're a right cunt, you know that?"

"I'm just stating fact."

"You know that's not what you're doing! You're just being immature using something like that against me!"

Harry's breathing was laboured. He could see that Draco was shaking too. He knew he was being unreasonable. This was all wrong.

"Why don't you mean it!" he yelled.

"Because I just don't, okay?"

"That is not fair, Draco! Not after everything we've gone through! Not after everything I admitted to you! Can't you see this isn't fair?"

"You cannot force me to love you! Are you mental? I cannot lie about my feelings! And you speak as though you know what you're talking about! You don't know real love! You're just physically attracted to me as is three quarters of the school! There's a difference!"

"Oi! Don't try to change my feelings – I know what I feel! I know I love you!"

Draco's eyes shuttered at the last words, as though in disbelief, as though he had never heard those words spoken to him, and hearing said confidently. "You don't love me-"

"I do!"

Harry's ferocity died down. "I do, Draco, I do. I do love you..."

Silence.

Draco looked down. "You can't love me-"

"I love you."

"You ca-"

"I love you, Draco."

Draco sighed sharply with apparent irritation, looked up again at Harry, his eyes shining. He sighed shakily, stood silent, eyes boring into Harry forcefully, investigating, searching, questioning. He swallowed, he blinked several times, and then slowly, slowly stalked over to Harry. He gulped and looked down at Harry's lips, and he swallowed again. He looked experimental, cautiously venturous, cautiously hopeful.

"Say it."

"I love you." Harry did not skip a beat.

Slowly Draco approached. His whole body seemed to quiver. He was still watching Harry's lips as though he did not believe those words were coming from them.

"Say it."

"I love you." Crisp and clear. Harry felt as though he was luring a timid animal towards him.

Draco seemed to breathe harder with every answer.

"Say it."

"I love you." It was immediate, seamless.

The pale forehead creased and straightened and creased as war waged inside Draco. He sniffed. He took another step forward.

"Say it."

"I love you, Draco."

The jaw clenched and the grey eyes grew shinier with unshed tears.

"Say it." It was almost a cry.

"I love you, Draco." Harry's voice softened.

Draco inched even closer. He was shaking his head in disbelief, almost crying, his eyes still fixed on Harry's lips. He drew breath.

"Say it."

"I love you, Draco." Harry too began to feel the sting of tears in his eyes.

A tear ran down one pale cheek. The thin, shell-pink lips trembled. He sniffed. He was mere inches from Harry now.

"Say it." And that was a cry.

"I love you, Draco." And that was a whisper.

Draco lunged forward and connected their lips for the second time that night.

It was tearful, and desperate, and needy. It was pathetic, sentimental, and flimsy. It was rushed, clumsy, awkward, and graceless. Hands knew not their motions. Tears mingled on the cheeks and their lips. Breaths fused, lips danced, noses crashed, and teeth clashed.

It was imperfect perfection.


	23. Absolute Control

**Chapter 23**

**Absolute Control**

Oblivion.

He was gone in seconds. White bliss. His first real orgasm – no dreams, no phantom touches. It was real, felt, touchable... too wonderful. It was strange, overwhelming, too much too handle. Almost painful.

He came to. He was on the floor, propped up against the wall facing the front of the bed, Draco straddling him, gazing down at him with hinged amusement.

It felt... He had not known intimacy was a race to a certain high point – the climax, the apex. That was why so many people loved doing it, why there were sex maniacs and rapists. That was why – because it felt so good, overwhelming as one reached to that point. Harry understood now. And all of that was just from kissing... just how good could it get...?

Harry opened his lazy eyes fully, trying to focus them on the pale face mere inches from his own. He closed his gaping mouth, blinked slowly and shifted his thighs uncomfortably.

"Draco," he croaked, rearranging his glasses.

The sides of Draco's lips fought hard to stave off burst of laughter. He finally composed himself before he replied, "Potter."

The inappropriate use of his last name (considering what they had just done) jarred Harry out of his hazy afterglow and brought him firmly back to the moment. Blinking hard a few times and taking a deep breath, he looked into the gleaming grey eyes. Harry could feel that he was a mess down in his pants, and Draco was sitting directly on top of that area.

Looking into grey eyes, Harry did not know what to say. What was there to say after… that…? Where they stand now, after they had...? What did that mean? There was no telling with Draco – he was a complex character. Harry had never encountered anybody like him. Or it was a different side—No, he had to stop mentally compartmentalizing Draco's personality. This was the Draco he had always known. The only difference was that Harry was now seeing more of that person because he had not had the opportunity to do so before as they hated each other's guts. And ironically it was all because of Voldemort.

A sudden flush suffused Harry's cheeks and he averted his eyes to Draco's stomach, studying the black polo-neck shirt. Draco's arms folded together in front of his chest, which probably meant Draco was expecting him to do something or stop acting so cowardly. Harry awkwardly fiddled under him, adjusting his thighs, moving Draco slightly as he did so, playing with his fingers again, swallowing, blinking, inhaling and exhaling.

He heard a sharp, impatient sigh. "Potter."

Harry clenched his jaw before he slow looked up, his face growing positively crimson.

Draco gave a theatrical sigh of relief which made him sink into Harry's crotch, whereupon the pink on Harry's face turned a livid scarlet.

"Well it's quite a position we're in," Draco remarked shortly.

Yes, that just about summed it up. Harry willed himself to stop behaving so immaturely. He fisted his hands in an attempt to stop his fingers from playing around, locked his legs tight so they could not move, and forced his eyes to concentrate on Draco's face.

Draco gazed back at him steadily.

"Was that your first orgasm without the use of your hand?"

This took Harry aback. How could Draco could speak so nonchalantly about masturbating. Was that not something private or a taboo at the least?

"I don't wank," Harry replied in a clipped tone, and he was glad to find his voice steady.

Draco studied him. "You don't wank," he deadpanned.

"No," Harry said proudly. He was proud because he thought that boys were not supposed to masturbate since it proved how pathetic he was to seek pleasure from his own hand. It meant that he was unable to woo the ladies.

Draco looked at him for a moment in quiet disbelief, but then he shrugged.

Harry's eyes wandered in the silence. He cleared his throat. He opened his mouth but before any words could come out, his breathing quickened as Draco lowered his face until Harry could see only pale skin and grey eyes, eclipsing the walls and the bed and the ceiling. He swallowed underneath Draco, attempting to squeeze him back against the wall behind him.

The pale face tilted sideways and even looked to be a little thoughtful. "What happened?" Draco asked softly, genuinely curious.

The question sounded almost like an echo to Harry, the way everything became so surreal so suddenly.

"Huh?" he said most eloquently.

Draco did not seem to have registered his non-reply at all. Then he drew back and rearranged his crossed arms.

"The last time I heard someone say that to me I was six. Mother said them to me after she read me a story. After that, it all started changing. She didn't read to me anymore, she barely spent time with me, my father started taking my... training... seriously. He started replacing Mother, started preparing me." His eyes all of a sudden turned steely, sharp, cutting, as he looked into Harry's green eyes. He did not speak.

Harry did not know what to say. He could not begin to do justice to those words.

"The fairy tales stopped, the innocent dreams stopped. I started learning the Dark Arts – they replaced those nice dreams. I used to wake up mumbling incantations almost every day."

Harry remained silent. He did not know what to do with all of what he was being told, nor did he know how to act towards Draco's strange disposition and his confession to him of such personal things. He knew Draco was not the most open of people, and he made sure the expression on his face was as open-eared, receptive and non-judgemental as he could achieve – that was all he could offer at the moment.

Draco looked contemplative. He drew his wand. Immediately the siren went off in Harry's head, but there was also a large, tranquil part of him that did not feel threatened. This felt too much like home. Did this make sense?

Draco twirled his wand playfully as he watched Harry, his long, nimble fingers manipulating the wooden tool to his own will...

"Do you mean it, Harry?" he asked, his voice calm and sweet, watching Harry.

Harry knew how to respond to this: he nodded.

Draco twirled and played with his wand, to which Harry's eyes darted before looking back up at Draco, trying to keep a trace of nervousness from showing, trying to convey with every muscle in his face that he meant what he said earlier.

"Say it." Draco swallowed. He looked suddenly nervous and cautiously expectant again.

"I love you." So simple to say them, so inexpensive, so true.

Draco suddenly leapt from his lap to his feet, the swift motion unsettling Harry more than he would have liked to admit. Draco looked down at him, folding his arms again. Harry wearily got to his feet as well, and they simply stared at each other silently.

"I'd like to sleep – it's been a long day."

Dismissed.

"Sure," Harry found himself replying even as walked towards the door mechanically.

From behind, he heard, "You know, people in our situation usually share a goodnight kiss."

Harry spun around and nearly gaped at the words. "Er..." His eyes flicked to Draco's lips. His mouth worked to produce a response but nothing came. "Oh, I, er..." This was a totally new arena. It was a different dimension altogether.

"Don't I get a goodnight kiss?"

Harry could not believe his ears. His heart was beating against his chest, his lips going dry, his head pounding. This was definitely new.

Harry's legs quickly carried him back to that pocket of air that was Draco's aura. He went forward to place a swift peck on Draco's lips before he could think about it but Draco had other ideas: he pulled back and Harry's puckered lips to kiss the air, leaving Harry bereft and beyond embarrassed.

"What?" he snapped, his face rocketing to scarlet once more.

"So are we... involved?" Draco asked, looking like he about to throw up.

Harry did not have an answer to this as well. But then he realized he could decide. He had a choice. Did he want to be with Draco? Of course. Then it was simple.

"Yes."

Wait, was it that simple?

His answer shocked him as much as it did Draco, who moved suddenly as though an invisible hand had slapped him. Harry chose. He chose to have this. _I just did, didn't I?_ He just did that – confirmed it. He chose because Draco gave him this choice, and he wanted to. This was beyond Ron and Hermione, beyond Dumbledore and Draco's parents, beyond the whole Wizarding world. It was between him and Draco alone.

"Okay," Draco said with a decisive nod.

It was quite evident that all of this was new to Draco as well, which led Harry to the question of Draco's sex résumé: did Draco have regular sex? Used to? Had he been one of those people who had casual sex with other students on weekdays? Or even weeknight? Harry had no idea of the scope of Draco's sexual experiences. What was he getting himself into here?

"Yeah," Harry said.

Silence.

Draco seemed fed up with this nervous hiatus: he suddenly adopted a bored look. "How about you join me on my Prefects rounds." It was an order rather than an invitation. Draco went over to his bed and collected his school robe. He threw it on and strutted past Harry towards the door.

_Oh right, he's a prefect_. _So... this could be, well, called a stroll, right? A lovers' stroll?_ Harry batted the question away quickly and followed Draco out of his new room. There was no need to complicate things even further than as they stood right now.

The young mermaid made another irritating coo at Draco as he stepped out. Harry made sure to bang the door closed and give the portrait a smile accompanied with a polite glare. He then followed Draco out of the passage and into the fifth-floor hallway, all the while feeling his prick squishing in his soiled pants most uncomfortably.

They walked in silence.

Harry was still awed by the strangeness of him and Draco – the fact that they were co-existing without exchanging slicing retorts or vicious spells. Awed even more by the fact that he did not expect things to turn out that way. It was understandable that he was shooting regular sidelong glances at Draco as they walked along as he wondered when everything was suddenly going to shatter, disrupting the illusion and revealing the real truth behind, the real images of the impossibilities. He could not help imagining Draco whipping his wand out and aiming it at his head, ready to fire any nasty Dark Arts spell of his choosing.

He watched Draco walking, his chin parallel to the floor, his gaze strictly ahead, posture woodenly straight, formal and unforgiving, as though it were that of a drilled soldier, as though it were learned, ingrained in his mind since as early as he could stand on his two feet. Recalling about Lucius' steely strictness and Draco saying that he took over his upbringing, Harry realized that this observation was closer to reality than not.

"What stories did your mother read to you?" Ron had never shared children's folklore with him. Harry surmised one needed books to read from, but if they barely afforded second-hand school books, storybooks for leisure was never in the question to be out it in the first place.

Draco did not answer him for a while. There was only the sound of their footsteps and the soft snoring of the portraits. Harry was supplying the light with his wand so they could navigate the dark corridors. Draco quietly looked at him, his luxurious, pale neck twisted in his direction. Harry held his silver eyes earnestly, but Draco looked away a second later.

"Why do you want to know?" came the tart reply.

Harry shrugged. "I'm a despicable Muggle who doesn't know a thing about magical fairy tales."

The appeal to Draco's contempt of Muggle-borns was partly successful as Draco did not sneer openly at him.

"There're a lot," Draco sighed reluctantly.

"Then tell me your favourite," Harry pushed. He caught Draco's shufti at him before the Slytherin looked away ahead again.

Silently they descended a flight of stairs, stepping onto the fourth floor, which had a significantly larger number of snoring portraits. The persons in them made disturbed noises in their sleep as Harry's wandlight shone down the corridor.

"The Tale of Prince Zerold the Mindless," Draco began. "It's a story about a young prince who finally marries the woman he'd wanted to marry ever since being a child. It was a beautiful wedding, everything the prince and princess had talked about and dreamed together when they were just kids frolicking in the lush fields of rural Wiltshire, close to my home. But the girl's sister, Mayena, had never liked the princess ever since they were kids. She never liked it when the two of them met up and ran away from the local markets to go play in the fields.

"She and her sister were solidly lower middle-class and they could only visit the markets on certain weekends, so it was a time to be happy and forget stuff, especially with a loud drinker like their father around the house. So she found it quite insulting that her sister chose to spend time with a stranger, a rich stranger, than her own sister on those rare weekends. She was by any standard fat, almost the mongol, and not too gentle on the eyes either. None of the boys particularly fancied her, called her Gomiga for reasons unknown to anyone."

"Hey, we're trying to sleep here, do you mind?" shouted a man in a portrait who wore nightcap with golden tassels and a bell and who was squinting angrily at Harry.

Harry turned an irritated glare at the portrait but flicked the narrow beam of light from wand further down the hallway. He turned back to Draco with an exceedingly expectant expression to prove that he was as interested as ever to hear the rest of the story, though he did not want to say anything. After a few days of this new level of interaction with Draco he had gauged that he had to silently beg the other boy to do certain things or to prevent him from closing off chastely, where he would not need to do so with someone less stubborn and uppity.

The tact worked, for Draco continued. Harry enjoyed a secret smile – he was getting to know Draco too well.

"So years later, the handsome prince and the beautiful girl – her name was Xaila – Patrick and Xaila's dream finally came true: they became engaged on King Arthur's day and later married on Sun of Merlin. It was a royal wedding with a royal feast to boot afterwards. Everyone came, near and far, close and distant cousins reknewed each other. After the celebrations, the new couple escaped to their chambers to..." Harry blushed but Draco was less unperturbed as he interlocked his fingers suggestively. "...complete the proceedings, 'consummate' was the word they used. But not all went too well: the prince didn't know about the jealousy of his sister-in-law. So he wasn't aware that the person he was about to bed wasn't his wife…"

Harry whistled.

"…After the wedding, Mayena, all dolled up in her bridesmaid dress and glitter, looking at least the tiniest bit less ugly than her usual trollishness, and having nurtured her hatred over the years and the world not to mention, drew her sister away from the rest of the crowd into an unoccupied room. Xaila was perplexed by this and asked her sister what was wrong, but Mayena didn't want to hear anything from her and immediately cast a full-body bind on her and dragged her into a closet after pulling out a single lock of hair. She locked the closet and then pulled out one of her father's tankard and brewed the Polyjuice potion. After transforming into her sister she went out of the room and sought out the prince.

"So the prince and the princess made mad passionate love, their bed rocking and bumping, and after that, the Polyjuiced Mayena made Patrick make a vow to never live without her, to never be happy without her. Patrick gladly did so and went under the Unbreakable Vow.

"Three years later he went mad after realizing that he hadn't been married to the girl of his dreams, that he had married her sister. Mayena had grown tired of brewing the Polyjuice potion and having to monitor her sister every now and then so that she wouldn't be discovered in their villa. Patrick had found her aimlessly wandering the corridors, gone mad after being under the Imperius Curse for three years.

"So Prince Patrick joined her true wife in madness. Mayena became lenient and allowed them to see each other, but the prince would still be loyal to her. She abused him, verbally and sometimes physically. Prince Patrick couldn't do anything but remain under the Unbreakable Vow, forever chained to the big ugly sister of the woman he was supposed to have been ordinary with and grown old happily with."

A few moments of silence passed before Harry incredulously asked, "And that's your favourite story?" Why would Draco choose such a depressing story that had no happy ending as his favourite?

"It was the last story my mother read to me," Draco replied dispassionately, seeming to be adrift in his own thoughts. "But... I think it was warning…. I think she wanted to warn me about—about taking the Dark Mark later on, about committing my whole life to something. Of course she couldn't say anything outright to me to discourage me because Father would've known, which meant the Dark Lord would've known. So I think it was her way to warn me about it because it would be the last thing she could do to influence me before Father started to make his presence felt more."

They did not speak for minutes, listening to the soft snores of the portraits and of the hooting owls and the other eerie sounds of the night.

"I remembered that story when I took the Unbreakable Vow in Dumbledore's office – actually when he told me I had to take it back in that corridor on that Saturday."

How could Harry forget? That Hogsmeade Saturday that changed everything between the two of them.

"What happened when you took it?" Harry asked rather fearfully.

Draco shrugged. "Nothing happens. You don't feel any different, if that's what you're asking. But I have to say Dumbledore's Unbreakable Vow was certainly different from the one I've seen years ago. But I guess the man's a bloody genius," he said grudgingly. "The Unbreakable Vow is usually performed by a third party upon the two people who are participating in it."

"So the vow only forbids from saying anything about the Order?"

Draco gave a rather cynical snort on which he did not elaborate but merely answered, "Yes."

Harry nodded. He felt a small rush of relief. Dumbledore had not been in whatever way unfair to Draco.

They went down another flight of stairs and landed on the third floor. The portrait of Barnabas the Barmy and the Two Trolls was only metres away from them. Another hiatus of silence descended upon them. Why Draco was not making an effort of stemming it, Harry did not know. Draco was certainly more comfortable with it than he was. He was curious about a lot of things about Draco, so it was quite easy to fill the silence. Draco was raised in the magical world – he knew so many things about it than he, Harry, did – rather like Ron. Then Harry wondered if Draco replacing his freckled friend.

Ron had been his only window into the Wizarding world, but a dusty, scratched-up, pitted one: the Weasleys did not have much; there was not much they had experienced and could talk about. Thus, with Draco here, there was an opportunity to learn a whole lot of things because Draco could afford to give Harry a broader, perhaps more interesting view of the Wizarding world. He could learn things besides how to pick garden gnomes and saving tips. It surely was not wrong for him to want to learn from him.

"Draco," began Harry, who was glad to see Draco not flinch when he heard his give name. "remember after the DA meeting-" The air the word 'remember' created around them was exciting but also unsettling. It was both exciting and awkward that the word suggested that they had a sizeable catalogue of moments they shared together which allowed them to reminiscence about something common. It was as though they had been friends for longer than a mere few days (Draco would probably take issue with being a called to Harry Potter). "-when I asked you about how you could just block the Torture Curse but wouldn't the Cruciatus?"

Draco nodded, appearing sedate and ready to oblige Harry's question, which was to Harry's slight surprise. The Gryffindor thought Draco was already obliging this camaraderie between them and would felt that that was enough on his its own. Draco's efforts to make things work between them lifted his spirits higher.

"Yes I was telling you that," Draco said. Harry snorted. Draco had sneered, not told. Draco ignored the sound. "The reason I could block the Torture Curse, whereas I wouldn't – and couldn't – the Killing Curse and Imperius Curse, is because people have taken the Cruciatus as the official third of the Unforgivables in their minds. Magic and mind have a very close relationship. So believing the Cruciatus Curse as that evil, Dark curse made it become so, although it's still not as powerful as the Torture Curse. Father once said, 'We didn't magic but we can dictate it.'"

"So basically magic can become anything I want it to be?"

Draco winced and gave him a disdainful side-glance, clearly disgusted by Harry's reductionist words. "Something like that," he sneered in a non-committal way.

"So I can think about something and it will appear in front of me?"

Draco did not dignify this huge leap with a reply, something Harry had foreseen. A smile smacked itself onto his lips.

"Dumbledore said something similar about magic." Harry stopped himself belatedly, only realizing after he spoke that bringing up Dumbledore was heading into sticky territory. He did not want to remind Draco about Dumbledore and his attempts to exploit the rage inside Harry.

"And what did high and mighty Dumblebells had to say?"

Harry gave a winced smile, having seen that coming. He was slightly astonished Draco dignified the man enough to insult him, however. "Don't call him that."

Draco merely shot him a curt, lazy glance. He gazed up at the heavens and sighed, "Leashed…"

Harry glared at the Slytherin but inwardly mourned the death of the nice, content, comfortable aura around them. "I'm not leashed," he said tersely.

"Whatever, Harry," Draco said with a false smile, in a rare but pointed and deliberate use of Harry's given name.

"I don't want to talk about Dumbledore."

"You don't have to talk at all."

Harry was this close to snapping, 'Fine!' and stomping off back to a cosy Gryffindor common room instead of hanging around in his chill and having to endure Draco's acerbic attitude. But Harry did not want to do that because all that greeted him back in Gryffindor Tower was loneliness. His friends were injured in the hospital wing, most likely staying for the night, and his other fellow Housemates were probably asleep. Harry did not want make any drastic moves but let the silence soothe the tension for a while.

The quiet did not last for long, for as soon as they landed on the third flight of stairs, Draco spoke after halting them.

"I guess this is the end of our nice little stroll."

This took Harry aback a little. He should have known they were not going to cover all five floors.

"Oh." The world was all of a sudden caving in on him. He felt like everything was turning on him.

Draco watched him, his arms still folded, a calm but piercing look in his eyes.

"I guess it's goodnight, then, yeah?" Harry said, the intended humour of his words vanishing into thin, black night in the light of Draco's near-withering look.

Draco nodded, giving him a subtle once-over. "Goodnight."

Harry looked back at him, not knowing whether he should leave now and expect nothing. He swallowed. "Okay," he said.

Draco did not speak.

Harry nodded and turned to go, at a loss for any more words to forestall his departure.

"Harry."

It was disgusting how fast Harry whipped round to face Draco after those words, and he found himself blushing to the tips of his hairs at his reaction, embarrassed by his desperation not to leave, or doing so without having something to carry him along the way at the least.

Draco came closer to him, stepped into his personal space, maintaining that calm, observant gaze.

"Harry?"

That soft utterance of his name through those lips drove a titillating wave of sparkling arousal down his body.

"Yeah?" Harry rasped. He wanted to hear his name again.

"Goodnight."

A little delirious from Draco being so close to him, Harry was unable to comprehend his strange demeanour and Draco's unpredictable predictability.

"Kiss me goodnight."

A shock to the system. The words ran across his veins, across his nerves, and reverberated across his mindscape.

"Er..."

"Kissing doesn't require words, Harry," Draco sweetly told him in that wonderful tenor of his. How dare Ron mock it?

Harry's world was thrown upside down for the second time that night. _Just do it!_ His eyes darted to the thin, petite bed of shell-pink lips. Harry swallowed and licked his lips, feeling himself harden with a speed that should embarrass him. _Just do it!_

After angling his lit wand down to cast their faces in partial darkness, Harry threw his head forward to kiss Draco for the second time that night, but in as many times Draco pulled back.

Left hanging once again and beyond humiliated, Harry snapped, "What?"

"Tell me you're not going to let Dumbledore control you."

"He doesn't control me! I've been trying to tell you this!" Harry yelled, embarrassing burning in his face.

"He does, Harry," Draco said softly, making Harry look like a raging fool, "as long as you allow him to make you do things you don't want to do."

"I do want to learn to control my rage so that I can be more powerful!" Harry countered.

Draco swooped forward. "You lie, Harry," he murmured against Harry's chapped lips without exactly kissing him.

His breath caught in his throat. He could feel Draco's breath coming into his mouth…

"You let him manipulate you..."

"Huh...?"

Draco had Harry backed up against the wall. He lavished Harry's dry lips with the saliva on his own tongue before he pulled off and stood mere inches from Harry's face.

"Promise me you won't let him do that to you."

"He doesn't," Harry denied in a rough whisper.

"You lie, Harry." Draco's lips ghosted over Harry's again, and Harry shook from head to toe.

Draco then pulled back completely, the passion in his eyes swiftly taking its leave, replaced by frosty marbles. It left Harry reeling amidst his delirium.

"Promise me," Draco ordered firmly. "I don't want to see you being controlled like a mindless soldier in this war."

This struck Harry almost as contrived, but he was not in the mood to be cautious right now.

Draco produced his wand out of his school robe. "I want you to tell Dumbledore you don't want to do it. You don't have to jump at his every command, Harry."

Harry was thrown off by all of this. "I'll do anything that will help us win the fight," he said. Draco still looked expectant. "But of course I won't do anything I don't want to. I haven't before."

Draco suddenly gave him a big, bright smile – a smile that made him believe he had done something worthy of a golden star on his forehead from Draco and made his stomach do all sorts of embarrassing cartwheels and jumps. Draco went forward and pecked him on the lips. "That's all I wanted to hear!" he squealed, biting his lips.

Harry nearly died with pleasure. He gave a tentative smile as he soaked in the sight of Draco biting those lovely sips of his…

"So... I guess it's goodnight... again,"

"Er..." Harry stammered. Draco's fluctuating moods were rather upsetting to his equilibrium. One moment he was silent, the other compliant. Then he became serious and the next moment he was right chipper. "Yes, goodnight." Harry took off before he could act any more idiotically in front of Draco. He headed the other way, trying to moderate his steps to the perfect non-evasive and non-reluctant pace.

Draco's smile transformed into a smirk as he watched Harry's back disappear into dark hallway. He murmured, "_Lumos_," and turned around. As he ambled back to his room he twirled his wand playfully, his long, nimble fingers manipulating the wooden tool to his own will…


	24. Betrayal

**Chapter 24**

**Betrayal**

The sun shone through the window of the boys' dormitory. It was early in the morning and the first class was minutes away. Ron was looking down at the peaceful, sleeping figure of Harry. His face was torn between a scowl and serene smile. He seemed conflicted, his chestnut eyes verging on a glare at the quiescent form. Ron released a sigh, uncrossed his arms and went over to shake Harry awake before heading for the showers. His friend stumbled along behind him, rubbing his glued eyes open.

Minutes later they were ready and descended the stairs into the Gryffindor common room. Unusually Hermione was not standing to greet them at the mouth of the stairs. Harry and Ron shared curious glances they could not stop, but Ron swiftly gathered himself, rearranged his features into his own version of cold dispassion and walked ahead of Harry.

"Morning, Harry, Ron," said Dean and Seamus, as they drew level with them.

Ron grumbled something back at them and hurried to the portrait hole, leaving the pair befuddled and Harry woeful.

"What's got his kilt in a bunch?" Seamus asked, a thick, ginger eyebrow aloft in question.

Harry shrugged quietly. He did not want to admit that Ron was a little rattled because he had been flung backwards on his head a few years ago.

"He's just being unreasonable," answered Harry evasively. "Let's go."

The three of them climbed out of the portrait hole after a bevy of fourth year girls and trooped down to the Great Hall. Harry slipped into observation mode: he kept a close eye on Seamus to study his demeanour. His and Seamus' situations were similar and so he wanted to see how his fellow comrade was faring in the fairy world of homosexuality. He observed that Seamus appeared laid-back today and more worry-free. He did not seem nervous, disappointed or resentful as he been the previous days. Dean was his usual aloof, content and oblivious self. Had the two of them reached an agreement of some sort? Had they reached an agreement on how they would manage Seamus' feelings for Dean?

Still feeling unaccountably jealous for Dean and Seamus, Harry slid back into the conversation about the success of the DA meeting the previous day. The two of them were a little chattier than usual, Harry thought, as he spied Ron's robes disappearing through the doors of the Great Hall ahead of them.

"I can't wait for the next meeting, Harry!" Dean praised, with a bright smile at Harry.

Seamus nodded vigorously at him.

"Er, yeah, it went great," Harry said vaguely. "Neville managed to cast his Patronus, right? And that... other girl too." He laughed a little nervously. He was referring to the fat girl that had taken issue with a name someone had proposed for the DA.

Seamus nodded vigorously again. "You were a great teacher, Harry… Great teacher, superb."

Dean's smile, which had widened to a beaming grin, was beginning to blind Harry, who nonetheless returned it with crooked smile of his own. They entered the Great Hall. Harry found out of just why his companions were acting so strangely today. The entire Great Hall immediately hushed as they noticed him.

And there was silence.

Dean and Seamus threw him sympathetic glances before they skittered away towards the Gryffindor table, leaving a stunned Harry to fend for himself at the hundreds of eyes hawking him intently. His breath nearly stolen, he swallowed and took in the quiet Great Hall, which concentration on him palpably. His eyes instantly shot to the Slytherin table reflexively and noticed the empty seat usually occupied by Draco. His heart jumped into his throat, his shocked green eyes did not know where to turn, his entire body did not know where to hide, and his coursing blood did not know where to flow. Never in his life had he felt so naked.

He drew up his lower jaw back into place and took a shaky foot forward. Then his breath left his lungs at once when a sweeping hand took him by the crook of his elbow and pulled him towards the Gryffindor table – it was a pale hand. Harry looked up at Draco leading them to his House table.

"Merlin, Potter, I knew you loved attention but this is ridiculous, even for you," drawled the blond Slytherin.

Harry was speechless, and his jaw found the floor once more. He could do nothing but walk beside Draco to the table as what felt like millions of laser dots sizzled his skin, tracking their progress across the Great Hall. His mouth dry, his heartbeat at full blast, legs feeling boneless, Harry looked up at the High Table, and he gazed into the merry blue eyes of Headmaster Dumbledore. He was smiling widely and the blue eyes gave their brightest twinkle thus far. Harry looked aside at Draco and saw only confidence smirking.

Neville, who usually sat next to Harry, scattered from his seat and found another.

Eyes everywhere. Silence everywhere. Their motions sounded far too loud. He could have sworn his swallow echoed in the vast room. With slightly shaky hands he started filling up his plate and glass, shooting another glance at Draco, who had a calm, enigmatic glow about him. His motions were smooth and mastered as he stuck a fork in a pile of pancakes, transferred them to his plate and filled up his tall glass with Hogsy from the pitcher. He released a small, contented sigh, adjusted himself into his seat, gave Harry a smiling glance and tucked in.

Harry licked his dry lips before he started on his breakfast as well, which, with a hundred pairs of eyes watching him closely, was an interesting affair. He discovered then that he had actually never really tasted food before. When one paid so much attention to one's every forkful, one could really savour the full, real taste of it, as though one's slow pace allowed the food to fully expand its store into one's mouth, releasing all its tasty goodness. Food was actually tastier, and possibly, more filling, when one's taste buds studiously considered it. Now was that not a lesson for Ron?

Harry felt a stream of hot waves from Ron's impenetrable aura of anger and resentment. Ron knew only his fork and plate, together with his smudgy glass of pumpkin juice, as he religiously attacked his breakfast, minding no one, least of all Harry.

Hermione was nowhere to be seen. Her seat stood empty across from Harry. Her presence would have been extremely calming at that moment; Draco's bursting confidence did not comfort Harry – it made him feel small and inferior and... almost unworthy of him.

In the blood-curdling silence Dumbledore then resumed his inane chit-chatter with Professor McGonagall, "I don't know about you, Minerva," he said loudly more at the Hall than at McGonagall, "but I for one find myself absolutely taken with today's crème brûlée..." His attempt to kick-start the Great Hall back into its normal drudgery worked, for the noise level soon peaked as banter and chatter exploded from the High Table. Harry felt a rush of gratitude towards Dumbledore. But when he turned to Draco he caught the other boy rolling his eyes to the magicked stars of the ceiling. However, there was a small smile curving his thin lips.

And despite his unease, a warm, hearty, thick feeling of relief and happiness settled in Harry's chest. Was this how it felt like to have breakfast with Draco? Here Harry had a soul that he could prod and prod and it would not cost him endless litanies of facts or spew caustic words of hate and annoyance. He had someone who could give him wonderful things: companionship, insight, humour, wit, and maybe love… Harry tentatively and shyly smiled around his fork.

The Great Hall gradually forgot about them and eased back into the normal flow of things. In spite of this Harry had eyes only for his food and did not regard anything else beyond his seat.

Besides Professor Sprout, who was sporadically chancing quick glances of soppy awe at the new couple, Hagrid was also watching the two of them carefully, a frown creasing his vast brow, and for once his breakfast was secondary to his attention. McGonagall appeared as sharp, terse, and impatient as ever. There was a thin pursing to her lips as she humoured Dumbledore and his rambling on, and she only rarely looked down concernedly at Harry and Draco. Slughorn was completely oblivious to everything and anything, making quick work of his plate, sometimes not even bothering with the silverware but reverting primitively to the use of his pudgy hands.

Harry diligently ate his breakfast: break off a piece, stab it, and bring it to your lips. Chew for a while before washing it down with pumpkin juice.

The Great Hall slowly emptied. A few students were finishing their breakfasts and grabbing their bags to head for their first lesson on a Wednesday morning. Desiring nothing more than to get out of there as soon as he possibly could, Harry too started cleaning off his plate in near record time and took a hearty, final swig of his pumpkin juice before he stood up. But Draco's soft words stopped him in his tracks.

"Sit down."

Baffled, Harry remained in a half-standing position for several seconds before slowly lowering himself back into his seat, shooting curious glances around the Hall.

"Wait 'til everyone's out, or the Slytherins specifically. Then we can go."

Still a little thrown off, Harry obeyed. He surmised Draco did not want to exit with the rest of the school lest someone take the opportunity in the confusing thicket of students squeezing through the doors to try his luck, making it hard to pinpoint the perpetrator.

Draco was still eating his breakfast. Harry observed that he ate with his back upright, used a fork and a knife and always sat with one leg crossed over the other. Harry wondered what was wrong with Draco. Exactly that. He was a Malfoy – pureblood aristocrat raised in the finest style and dining. Though he had been hurtling through the mansion in a frantic panic, its elegance, richness and sumptuousness came very easily to mind. Spacious stretches of silver and white, countless portraits of earlier Malfoys, pedestals and grand hallways with seamless seas of white tiles. All of these elements gave the place a heavenly look to it. If Harry imagined what heaven would look like on earth it would be something quite similar to Malfoy Manor.

The bell rung and still there was still unusually large number of students straggling behind in the Great Hall. The rest were trickling out through the great doors even more slowly than normal. When Harry ventured a look around the room he discovered the reason why so many were reluctant to leave the Great Hall: him and Draco. He quickly brought his attention back to his plate._ Dammit._ The Slytherins were resolutely staying put, and Harry did not like the quiet expressions on their faces. Cho and her gaggle of friends had left with half of their House. Almost every Hufflepuff was still present at their table ogling in a revoltingly obvious way at him and Draco – the sole reason they stayed behind. Ron had taken his leave swiftly with the majority of the Gryffindors. Dumbledore, Harry noticed as he looked up at the High Table, Dumbledore finally stood up, staring at the Slytherins.

"Students, if you would please proceed to your lessons," Dumbledore ordered, when the snarl of students remaining in the Great Hall became unavoidably apparent.

In plain disappointment the students all hurried along, scraping their chairs and abandoning the cutlery. The soft roar of mutters and milling footsteps gradually grew fainter away from the Hall. When finally the last Slytherin left, a huge long-armed, square-faced boy who cast a cold, dark-blue-eyed glare at the blond cap at the Gryffindor table, missed by Draco, Dumbledore descended from the empty High Table and came over to Draco and Harry. When Dumbledore stood in front of Harry and Draco the Great Hall stood empty.

"Good morning, Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy," said Dumbledore kindly. The boys greeted him back. Dumbledore, wearing a night-blue robe littered with stars and crescent moons, nodded with a smile. "I imagine you've noticed that the school appeared quite enthralled with the two of you. Though I fear there was a fraction of them somewhat less taken – some less than others."

Harry understood and nodded while Draco remained blank-faced.

Dumbledore went on, "That's why I propose Mr Malfoy join you in your Charms lessons."

It took several seconds for Harry's ears to wire this to his brain. When it did his eyes shone. "Oh. Oh, okay," he stuttered, taken aback hugely. He dared to chance a shufti at Draco but only met the same blank look.

Dumbledore smiled down at Harry. "I also think it's highly advisable he join you at breakfast every day from now on."

What day was it today? September 24th. But it felt like Christmas had come early. "Yes, sir," Harry replied.

"This is, of course," said Dumbledore, his beard twitching, "to reduce the chance of an attempt on Mr Malfoy."

"Of course, I understand completely," Harry said.

"I'm sure you do," Draco piped up, at which point Harry flushed.

Dumbledore beamed. Then he cleared his throat and his expression grew grave. "Aside, Harry, as times are becoming increasingly direr as you may have noticed, we have to make the appropriate arrangements."

The light air departed. Harry looked up at this headmaster.

"Professor Strolm is Flooing in today in the afternoon. Please avail yourself so you can meet him at five o'clock."

Harry was frowning. But it was a school day, it was just the middle of the week – he only had to face those issues on weekends, not weekdays. Feeling as though the world was unjustly closing in on him again, that this war was beginning to stifle him even in his comfortable niches and the few remaining places of solace, Harry gave an assenting, defeated, "Yes, sir."

He could not even fight against this monopoly – he had to do it. Professor Dumbledore had arranged for him to meet up with these esteemed people long before Draco came into the picture, long before he met Voldemort again, long before Malfoy Manor. That haunting desperation was back, and back with a nasty bite.

Dumbledore gave him a commiserative smile, but it fell again… yet another casualty of the 'times'.

"Furthermore," Dumbledore continued, "before you meet up with him I wish to, as I said, train you in controlling your rage so we can harvest from it a great power."

"No."

The world would surely crumble right now. And there came the new order. What was before now was not. The normal way of things had bowed and took its leave. Harry was not meant to say that. He was not meant to defy Albus Dumbledore. The words rang across the room deafeningly, but a tall smirk steadily climbed up Draco's face.

"I beg your pardon?" Dumbledore asked gently.

Harry struggled to look at him in the eye. "I don't want to do it."

A moment of silence passed as Harry's gaze wavered weakly at Dumbledore. But he tried to hold it fast at the older man, who appeared more surprised than shocked.

Draco titled his head to the side into his shoulder, touching his head against Harry's mop of raven hair. The Slytherin watched Dumbledore almost dreamily, the huge smirk still gloating at the headmaster.

Dumbledore's eyes darted to Draco and back to Harry. "Harry, imagine-"

"Dumbledore," drawled Draco, who seemed to have no qualms about interrupting him as it was the second time he did so, "with all due respect-" This could not have sounded less honest now. "-as you've heard, Harry here does not wish to be your little experiment. He's not a beast you can start training for fights."

"Draco," Harry warned nervously.

"Besides having him trained like a soldier and leaving him little to be happy about," Draco went on, his smirk now gone, "can you at least allow him some freedom? He's only a kid after all – he's no different than the rest of the students."

Harry was in total disbelief, and the passion seeming to blaze in Draco's eyes was even more shocking.

A silent Dumbledore, however, appeared less incredulous. "Harry?" he prodded.

Harry snapped up at him. He did not know what to think. His confidence was thinning rapidly at the disappointed look on Dumbledore's face. He was now expected to reply with his answer. He did not want this disorder, this change. Why had he taken the hope with which Draco had inspired him last night? It was foreign and did not have a place in the natural order of things, for he was supposed to listen to the adults, let them guide him and tell him what he had to do. That would guarantee success, right? It would guarantee what it was supposed to guarantee. Listening to one's superiors never strayed one, did it? But now Harry had to actually believe in Draco – believe that he, Harry, had an actual choice, that he could decide he did not want to do it just because Draco said so. And Draco had said so only because he knew that he, Harry, did not want to do it. But that was the answer, was not it? Harry had not wanted to do it because he did not want to see that side of him again, if it was still there. He himself had not wanted to 'exploit his rage'...And he still did not want to.

Draco turned to him expectantly.

He had to keep together. He drew a bracing breath. "I really don't want to do it, sir. I don't want my rage to overcome me again like that." Draco turned back to Dumbledore as he took Harry's hand in his own, and a shadow of his previous smirk gave a tiny curl to his the sides of his lips.

"I don't want to do it," Harry said firmly, keeping his eyes steady at Dumbledore. This was where he stood his ground. He could not be forced – no, not even forced but sweetly coerced and persuaded into doing something he did not want to do in the first place well before Draco had voiced his own opinion of the matter. It was time Dumbledore knew where his manipulation ended. It was time there were no more knowing smiles like the one Dumbledore wore when he stepped out of Draco's room the previous night and quietly expectant blue eyes. There was no more predictable Harry.

Dumbledore gave a sad smile, his blue eyes reflecting understanding and disappointment. "I understand, Harry. You don't have to do anything you are not comfortable with." His small smile suddenly widened and the sadness seemed to evaporate off his lined face. Guilt washed over Harry. Dumbledore straightened up. "Well, you two should be on your way. And I do have a date with my second helping of that crème brûlée – the kitchen elves have simply outdone themselves today."

With those words their headmaster strode away with a bright smile, looking the furthest thing from someone who had been turned down politely turned down by a recalcitrant teenager. Dumbledore disappeared behind the door behind the High Table. Draco pulled Harry towards the exit.

_Jesus, we just that that – I have just done that…! _Harry turned to look at the retreating figure of Dumbledore as the hem of the night-blue robes whipped through the door. The triumph was bittersweet.

As soon as they made it out of the doors of the Hall Harry pushed Draco off angrily.

"What?" said Draco, looking infinitely bemused as though he had not the slightest idea of what he had done.

"You didn't have to do that, Draco!" Harry hissed.

Draco looked comically shocked. "Oh help you out, you mean?"

"No, being like that to Dumbledore! You know, I thought you'd be the one respecting him the most since you knew about all his accomplishments and stuffs since you live in the Wizarding world! I could have handled him on my own without your help!"

"You mean break it gently to him?"

"Yes! Or something!"

Draco crossed his arms and sighed. "Look, Harry, someone had to tell him off – he can't just think he can control whoever he wants to."

"Still, you didn't have to go about it like that!"

"Let's just go, Potter. You're making me nauseous with this-" Draco gestured generally about Harry's person. "-guilty Gryffindor thing you've got going on here." He set off down the hallway, seemingly caring less if Harry followed or not. Harry huffed angrily but joined the troublesome Slytherin. What did he get himself into?

"Do you even have a wand to do Charms with?" Draco drawled, with a small laugh.

Draco knew his wand to be broken, Harry realized, since that eye-patched Death Eater had snapped it into two in Malfoy Manor.

"Yes actually – Dumbledore repaired it."

Draco rolled his eyes to the heavens. "You can't repair a wand, Potter – once it's gone it's gone," he told Harry imperiously in the same way Hermione spoke whenever she revealed something he or Ron did not know. Yet another similarity that irked Harry about Draco and Hermione. Why were he and Draco not more alike?

"Well he did," Harry replied tersely. "That same person you just disrespected right now did."

Draco studied him quietly for a moment. One would be forgiven for believing this a contrite silence.

"That's impossible," Draco blustered. "Mr Ollivander – before he died – told me that you can't repair a wand once it's broken... Unless... unless you're not using an ordinary wand… Dumbledore's wand isn't an ordinary wand..."

Harry looked ahead of him aloofly, ignoring Draco and his silent invitation to Harry to help him solve his riddle. Now Harry, too, could enjoy that pride in knowing something someone else did not.

Draco's grey eyes widened, but then they just as quickly resumed their normal size. "It can't be," he declared matter-of-factly, his lips pursing with shaky confidence. "It's only supposed… It's in fairy tales, it can't…" He sounded as though he were trying to convince himself more than Harry as though by this he could make it untrue. But when Harry remained indifferent he whispered slowly, "He's got the Elder Wand… Dumbledore's wand is the Elder Wand – the wand I've read about since I was bloody six years old! It's legend! Dumbledore has the Death Stick?"

Harry could not help a small smile of pride from breaking across his face as he relished the look of awe on Draco's face. It had struck Draco that the person he had undermined just a minute before was the very same person in possession of apparently the single most sought-after wand of all time.

Draco was silenced: he did not speak for the rest of the way to class.

Harry felt a great deal of vindication on Dumbledore's behalf, and this momentarily shunted aside his suffocating guilt that he had disappointed and even betrayed Dumbledore.

Harry and Draco were welcomed by hushed mutters as they walked into the Charms classroom. Harry ground his teeth as he proceeded to his desk. Draco for one looked impeccably obliviousness. Was he used to this sort of attention? Or did he simply shrug it off nonchalantly like water off a duck's back? It was quite impressive to Harry, who concluded that this was what held Draco in front of the hundreds of critical eyes. This was what allowed him to live through all of the perpetual speculation and whispering. It was the same grace and aloofness that Harry had seen on the days after Draco was raped. The same mask, the same veneer. And it was perfect, its workings infallible.

They took the only empty seats in the room, fortuitously next to each other. Was Draco going to be around Harry the whole day? Harry found himself growing giddy inside.

Ron sat beside him, openly scowled across him at Draco. Hermione, who flanked Draco so that she and Harry sandwiched him, gave him a bright smile, which Harry returned awkwardly. However, the smile faded as she glanced at Draco and her competitive edge returned.

"Everyone seated and settled?" Flitwick squeaked cheerfully. "Right, let's get on with the lesson!" The dwarf was positively shaking from head to toe with excitement as usual. Following the day on which Parvati had shared that titbit about Flitwick's extra-curricular activities concerning kitchen-elves, they had not been able to look at their Charms teacher the same again and had to disguise their incessant giggles behind their hands and claims of suffering from flu. For they could not help bursting out with laughter at the most random intervals during the period.

Flitwick cleared his throat. "Today we're going to be learning the Confundus Charm! Does anyone know what this useless little charm does?"

The class did not animate. A solitary hand slowly and lazily rose from the thicket of seated students. Judging by the look of shock on Hermione's face, Harry suspected she had taught herself this charm many suns ago and expected more than one person to know it. Draco sighed, seeming bored, and idly swung his leg. Hermione's chin tightened.

Flitwick's face fell. "Yes, Miss Granger!" he cheered dryly.

"The Confundus Charm. A spell when cast confuses the victim and makes them feel disoriented."

"Oho!" exclaimed Flitwick, and Ron's, Harry's, and Hermione's lips twitched. "Excellent! Ten points to Gryffindor!" Draco mock-clapped, whereupon Hermione flushed. "Now, I would like you to team up with your partner and practice the charm. The incantation is 'Con-fun-do!' Yes? Excellent! Please get on with it!" Flitwick climbed off his stacks of books and began making the rounds the classroom.

Seeing Ron heading over to Neville's desk, Harry turned to Draco. He knew the other boy had no friend in this class – he was the only Slytherin in the class. Was Draco ever not alone? Though Harry felt a small drop of sympathy for Draco he felt a sense of power in vaster amounts.

Draco stood up, tucked his chair in and cast an overconfident and presumptuous glance at Harry as though this sealed their partnership. Harry, still in the throes of thrilling power, obliged him and followed him to a quiet corner. He would be merciful. He felt more than a whisper of temptation of control, but he pushed it aside. He could not do that to Draco, not now. He could not dangle at him the threat of abandoning him and choosing to partner with someone else he knew. He would not even if he wanted to – he wanted _to _partner with Draco.

"I'm casting first," Draco said imperiously, as he unsheathed his wand.

It was wholly expected by Harry, who shook his head in amusement and replied, "Fine." He closed his eyes and braced himself. "Just do it." After all, it was a Slytherin who pointing a wand at him. He could not help his wince.

"_Confundo!_"

Wow... Instantly a soft buzzing noise envelope Harry, cocooning him in wonderous oblivion. His arms felt weightless and his vision swam. The pressure in his feet melted away, and that sweet tenor of Draco's voice echoed gently in his head. The room was there but shimmered like an oasis. It did not shimmer but it rippled. It did not ripple but it swam.

"Oh!" praised Flitwick. Ron and Hermione burst into breathless laughter. "Very good, Mr Malfoy!" he squeaked happily. "Excellent indeed!" And he bustled off and was lost in the maze of tables his height barely equalled.

"_Finite Incantatem._"

Weight rushed back into his limbs, his vision stopped moving around and soft echoing noise of the bustling classroom grew sharper. Harry scrunched his eyes and shook his head. Draco looked at him observantly. Harry cleared his throat. "Okay, your turn."

Draco seemed tempted to scowl, but he quickly composed himself. "Bring it."

"Will do. _Confundo!_"

Draco's sharp silver eyes fell to a tinted, pearly colour, it seemed. His lips parted as his jaw hung, and he seemed to teeter on his feet as though about to doze off. Harry sincerely hoped he had not looked like this. Then, a sudden impulse accosted him from nowhere. It nearly stole his breath away. Harry was ashamed of himself.

He looked around the classroom. "Excellent, Mr Potter!" Flitwick said, appearing suddenly but disappearing just as quickly. Heart beating fast, Harry watched Flitwick's back as it disappeared behind the other students. He thought how stupid he could have been. But now everyone was busy going about learning. Half the class looked like sleepwalkers and the rest wore looks of evil satisfaction as they trained their wands on their partners' foreheads. Flitwick was skipping around the students, assessing, squeaking praises here and advice there.

Harry turned back to Draco… Completely oblivious, so vulnerable – putty in his hand at the moment. _God._ A wave of heat travelled down his body, making him sweat. He looked into vacant pearly marbles, starry and gleaming with mindlessness. Harry bit lip. He could do anything to Draco – anything. Harry snapped his mouth shut.

He looked around at the room again – all were preoccupied.

He looked back at Draco. Would he be caught as he nearly had been?

He looked back to Ron – he was also confounded and looked like he suffered from Down syndrome.

He looked back at Draco.

He looked back to Hermione – she was under the Confundus Charm of some Ravenclaw.

Harry looked back at Draco – still oblivious, still unbelievably vulnerable.

Harry inched forward. He could not be doing this. He could not believe he was doing this. He was doing this. Draco was still Confunded, still unaware, unknowing, completely malleable, knowing no better. If this was only the Confundus Charm, what did it feel like to cast the Imperius Curse? But he already knew how it felt like to be under it: Voldemort had taken that liberty back in the graveyard the previous year. But what about being the caster, not the victim?

Still incredulous of his cowardice, Harry inched even further towards Draco. Someone could see him, someone could look around or snap out of the charm and catch him red-handed. Harry's head went forward, with a force not of his own making, and pecked Draco's lips.

God, with that brief touch, they felt just as heavenly as they had yesterday. soft – it made him want to push into them even further, never leave their sweetness; thin – such that he wanted to wrap his own lips around them entirely, engulf them because their scantiness could never sate him enough; and Draco-like – they were dainty yet capable, had a quiet robustness about them, as though Draco was holding back when he kissed him and he did not want to let go completely just yet…

It was over too soon, too soon. Harry leant forward and kissed Draco again. Yes, on his own free will – Draco was not doing it, and Harry was not being asked to do it. He had been so afraid to do this before. He should be ashamed he was doing it while Draco was incapacitated and unable to react to it. Harry gave those lips a few more quicker pecks. They were so investigative, experimental, scary, wonderful. Breathing heavily, horny as hell, and with a feeling of finality, of strangled joy, Harry placed the last kiss on Draco's lips and pulled away shakily. He muttered the counter-incantation without look at the other boy. _Bloody hell, I just did that._ Suspended in a surreal sort of daze, Harry idly drew his lips in and tasted the remnants of Draco's essence.

Draco looked back at him with a frown. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing!" Harry replied quickly, as he blinked at the floor. He wished to brace himself with the desk as he quite light-headed, and his heart pounded a mile a minute. He had even vaguely prepared himself for the imminent confrontation when Draco would somehow realize what he had done and attack him for it. But it was apparent Draco remembered nothing at all… Would this be his secret? His one experience never recorded? Never witnessed or opened to the public? Only remaining with him? His own?

It was… An enormous smile pushed its away across his face seemingly without his permission. He had just kissed Draco Malfoy, willingly, while he had been under the Confundus Charm. _Neat little charm, this is, isn't it? _he thought happily. Harry nearly laughed aloud. What was wrong with him? Harry reined himself in before his dementia could register to the outside world. But Draco nevertheless looked at him quizzically.

It was his own little secret.

Draco shrugged. "Okay... Let's go again."

Harry grinned.

Following Charms Harry had Potions with the Slytherins, which was why Draco was going the opposite way down the hallway. Harry walked alongside Hermione and Ron, who, for once, had taken the other side so that Hermione was sandwiched between him and Harry.

"The Confundus Charm, honestly," Hermione drawled imperiously, apparently unimpressed by today's lesson. "We should have learnt that spell back in first year if you asked me."

Harry on the other hand did not think there was another charm quite like the Confundus Charm. It was his favourite thus far now, knocking off the earmarked Bum-Shaker Charm.

Hermione turned to Harry worriedly. "Harry, are you okay? You look a little flushed."

Harry grinned. "No, I'm fine – very well, actually."

The crease on Hermione's brow lingered for a while before she cleared it and looked ahead.

"Dumbledore said Professor Strolm is coming in today," Harry said levelly, already envisioning Hermione's facial expression in his mind.

Hermione practically glowed. "Professor Strolm's coming back today?" she all but whispered in an awe-riddled voice. "When?"

"In the afternoon. Dumbledore said I should be at his office at five o'clock."

Hermione did not speak, staring at Harry intensely as she walked. "You better make it on time, Harry – the man probably has many obligations. And you should take notes on what he says – extensive notes."

Harry regretted ever mentioning Professor Strolm to her in the first place. "I'll try."

Hermione nodded forcefully and finally looked ahead.

"Why weren't you at breakfast, Hermione?" Ron asked, cutting in. Harry thought he was jealous of his and Hermione's dialogue.

"Oh, I was just researching the Horcruxes and Sirius' dagger again. This is so frustrating – there's absolutely nothing about Horcruxes anywhere. I managed to get a note for the restricted section from Moody-" Which was not hard to do, for it could not be said Professor Moody was overly reserved. "-and I still couldn't find anything. It must really be dark practice – major Dark Arts stuff."

"It's got Voldemort written all over it," Harry said wryly.

Ron threw another scowl at him as though he were intruding with his voice.

"And the dagger?" Harry asked, choosing not to dignify Ron.

Hermione shook her head in disappointment. "I don't think I found anything on it. I'd copied down the markings on the blade and only found one within a set of others in this other book about magical weapons." She wriggled her bag off and rifled through it as she walked, and after a valiant effort of punting aside large tomes of which Harry had no idea how they fitted into the bag in the first place, she finally and breathlessly produced a piece of parchment with printed text. Evidently Hermione had put the Script Duplication Charm Draco had taught her to good use. She closed her bag and heaved it on her back.

"The Legend of a Thousand Knives," she said, handing Harry the parchment.

Harry's brain had already turned to mush at all of this information at once. He glanced aside and saw Ron grimacing at the parchment in his hands. They shared yet another look that could not be stopped, but Ron soon corrected himself, adjusting his folded arms and staring ahead of him all with the appearance of consciously forcing himself to remain hostile towards Harry.

"What does it say?" Harry asked, rather than reading through all of it.

Hermione released a wild snort. "Just ask him to read a simple extract… It might not even be about Sirius' dagger. I copied it just in case. All it says is that the weapons were once used by wizards in public magic tricks. This was way back then when Wizarding schools were not even established yet, so people who could do more than day-to-day magic like conjuring things and performing illusions were held in high regard. This trick was one of those used then. Here it says, 'The magician would throw a single dagger at the tall box containing a female participant. Upon penetrating the box, it would then multiply and instantly perforated the entire box. However, the woman inside would always emerge, with a gamely, theatrical flourish.'"

"That's a good trick," Ron remarked.

"It's inhumane," Hermione said flatly. "What if the poor lady was stabbed by all of those knives?"

"It was probably all fake, Hermione – make-believe," Ron countered dismissively.

"You wouldn't be saying it's make-believe if you were the one in that box, Ron!" Hermione ripped the parchment from Harry's hand and stowed it back into her bag. "Let's go, we're getting late for class. We're learning about Love Potions today." Her chin tilted upwards as she whisked them off towards the Slytherin dungeons.

It would take some effort for Harry to get used to the idea of Potions without Draco. The class seemed more barren that usual. That had been so by Professor Snape's absence. Now it was worse with Draco not there anymore. Exacerbating this further was the fact that the lesson had comprised of Professor Slughorn tediously preaching about the many variations and dangers of Love Potions. It was theory – no practical work was done understandably. However, this had not deterred Hermione's enthusiasm for the lesson, nor that of the other girls. For the third Harry and Ron shared one of those woeful 'Girls…' and Ron's self-correction had been distinctly less heated. Harry thought perhaps he was starting to come around.

Harry discovered he only had Charms with Draco, while previously he had had Potions, Transfiguration and History of Magic with him. _This is bloody unfair!_ Dumbledore's plan was unfair. With whom was Draco having classes then? Hufflepuffs? Harry felt really sorry for Draco, and he felt himself missing him a lot as well. He entertained the fleeting thought of visiting him after school at his fifth-floor room. Harry felt like he knew a deep, dark, sweet secret. He knew where Draco stayed, and he could go there anytime. Draco, of course, could only then reject his visit when he was already there, which would in normal circumstances – or in normal people – make it harder to do so.

The final period ended at the stroke of three. Harry stepped out of the DADA classroom with his two friends, heading for the Gryffindor common room to relax after a long day of academics. Dean, Seamus and Neville walked beside them. Ginny joined them along the way with a friendly group of fourth-year friends after she bade her farewell to Luna, who floated away to Ravenclaw Tower.

After climbing through the portrait of the Fat Lady Harry headed for the boys' dormitory to drop his things. Ron trailed behind him, appearing reluctant to follow suit about something which they did together every day, which was most ridiculous. And Harry was getting fed up with his attitude. He threw his bag on the floor and threw himself back onto his bed to lie down for a minute or two.

He heard Ron's boisterous entrance as he swung the door open, slammed it closed and stomped over to his bed, followed by the loud thump of his own rucksack landing on the floor. Then he proceeded to sigh loudly, smack his lips rapidly – something which irritated Harry immensely – and theatrically collapse into his bed. Harry ground his jaw in irritation in the other bed as he stared at his canopy. He braced himself before sitting up and adopting an open, understanding expression.

"Ron, wanna go fly a few?" he asked. This usually yielded a positive result, and sure enough, Ron reflexively made to sit up. But then he caught himself mid-action and lowered himself back onto his bed.

"I don't fly with complete arses."

Harry sighed. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Ron. I'm sorry I threw you off-"

"I'm not talking about that!" Ron snapped heatedly, as he jumped to his feet, his wounded pride striking. "I'm talking about you not talking to us! Getting closer with Malfoy!"

Dean and Seamus burst in but upon seeing Harry and Ron in an explosive glaring contest quietly slinked back out and closed the door softly. They turned around and barred Neville from entering, stood guard and crossed their arms in front of their chests.

"I believe sparks and fire're in order, mate," Seamus observed.

Dean nodded gravely. "I don't suppose you have any more of your Explosive Éclairs hanging around in there, do you?" he asked warily, wincing.

At first it seemed Seamus was going to nod confidently, but then an uncertain expression flitted across his face, and Dean's shoulders sagged with resignation.

Neville's eyes darted between the two of them in bemusement.

Harry was speechless, for he had no argument against Ron's words. Ron took this as a huge victory and rode on his momentum. "I'm talking about shutting me and Hermione off and slithering towards the second snakiest git in the bloody world!"

"I'm not shutting you off, and Draco is not snaky!"

"That's whopping barmy and you know it!" yelled Ron, leaping to his feet. "Can't you see that slimy git's influencing you besides You-Know-You? Harry, you were breathing fire! Neville told me in Charms! And the fire was in the shape of a snake! Come on, Harry, you can't tell me you don't see that! Slytherins are just bad news and trouble from the get-go! The more you spend time with him the more you're going to be like him! Soon enough you'll be calling Hermione a Mudblood!"

"You know that's not true! I would never! And Draco's not influencing me!" But he had: just that morning in the Great Hall, when he went back on his promise to Dumbledore. Ron glared at him, scowling face flushed with the heat of the moment, arms crossed on his chest. "Look. I—I feel differently about Draco."

"Yeah? And why's that? 'Cause you're starting to get chummy with him! Merlin, the ferret's actually sniffling his way into our lives! First, he appears in your dreams for no reason. Then he's in Dumbledore's office utterly starkers, wrapped around your Invisibility Cloak, not to mention the DA meeting. And now he's attending lessons with us! What bloody gives? Is Dumbledore in on this?"

"Ron, look: his life's in danger, okay? We have to protect him. He's on our side now, Ron, can't you get that?"

"He's a Malfoy – a Slytherin to the core – they don't change! Snakes don't change their scales. He's as bad as him!"

"Come on, Ron. Even you know that's not true. Why d'you think his father wanted to protect him against Voldemort and let him stay with Sirius? What about his parents going into hiding?"

Ron glared silently, apparently at a loss for words.

"He's on our side now – you have to accept that. He's not going to change me into something I'm not-"

"You don't know that!"

"I do because I know myself, okay?"

"Oh really? Does the great Harry Potter breathe fire?"

And there was nothing to say to that.

"I guess if you could just throw me and Hermione like garden gnomes and make windows rattle and stuff then you can probably do that."

That was not fair. But Ron's vehemence seemed castrated for some reason. He was smouldering, glaring quietly now at an equally silent and stunned Harry. A few moments of silence passed.

"You know, I'm the one who's looked out for you for all these years. I'm the one who stood up for you. I'm the one who woke you up while you were moaning in your nightmares. I'm the one who climbs in your bed and comforts you and rubs your back until you go back to sleep – not Malfoy. Why should he have you?" Ron kicked the bedpost and stomped out of the dormitory.

Something did not make sense here… Something was a little off. _Why should he have me…?_ Harry hurried out of the dormitory.

"Ron!"

Shouldering past Dean and Seamus, who jumped out of the way and were nursing their shoulders after a steaming Ron had stormed passed them, Harry made quick work of the stairs, ignoring the scandalized and withering looks from the occupants of the common room.

Harry had not even known that Ron climbed into his bed and comforted him until his nightmares subsided. Guilt stabbed at him.

He caught up with Ron down the hallway.

"Ron, what do you mean?"

Blotchy-faced, Ron did not speak and flew down the corridor.

"Bloody hell, Ron!" Harry pushed the boy into the wall. "Talk to me, dammit!"

Ron easily fought him off and continued down the corridor as though nothing had stopped him.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me, Ron," Harry said.

For a while all that could be heard was their forceful footstalls, the agitated rustle of school robes and hard panting.

"Why do you have a problem with me and Draco?"

"Because that's what's bloody wrong with it – you and Draco. Shouldn't be in the same sentence together. I don't understand why you have to develop this obsession about the git after you saved him. Fine, you saved him! You can get on with your life after that, you know! You don't have to chain yourself to him and give a bloody damn about him and make sure he's all right even after. It's ridiculous, 's'what it is. You don't owe him anything! If anything he owes you!"

"There're other reasons why I'm with him, Ron. Didn't you think about that?"

"Oh yeah, sure I did: you shagging him," Ron declared.

Harry's breath caught. "I'm not shagging him! I—I-"

"Merlin, you're getting tongue-tied," Ron drawled breathlessly. "Last time that happen you'd been talking with Cho."

Then it was obvious, was it not? "So you know? How I feel about him?"

Ron stopped walking abruptly as though he had hit an invisible wall. "'Feel about him?' You 'feel' something for Malfoy?"

Harry could only stare at Ron. He thought Ron had figured it out already. Not if horrified trepidation broke all over his face.

"You mean it's not just shagging at least? It's... more...?" the redhead squeaked.

Speech had abandoned Harry.

Ron was gaping, his face growing paler with his every word. "I—wi—wa—ahi—ahi—I—I just thought that it was just about the sex for some reason, you know. You had suddenly turned fairy maybe because of Seamus or that you hadn't had too much luck with the girls, let's face it, mate. But... this... You—you... care about Malfoy? Give a rat's arse about his ferrety arse? Malfoy? Slimy git of the century? The bloke who tried to get us expelled in first year with Hagrid's baby dragon? The bloke who dressed up as a Dementor with his goons to scare you in a Quidditch match? Malfoy? Draco Malfoy?"

Harry opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, but nothing came.

"When you told us you liked him in that old classroom, I—I just thought you were in a stage," Ron continued breathlessly, "that you were starting to experiment with boys because you were going through some phase, or because you were confusing your feelings about him after saving him from You-Know-Who..."

"It's not a phase," Harry said harshly, before apologetically pouting at Ron. "And I don't feel anything towards other blokes... I care about him, Ron. I feel like I want to make him happy, make him forget about everything that's happened to him."

Ron was trying extremely hard not to grimace, so his face was stuck halfway between disgust and a fervent attempt to seem happy for his friend. And his glowingly red ears seemed to pull away from Harry as though they were unable to bear what he was saying.

"Care about him?"

"Yes," Harry said softly.

"Care, care?"

Harry gave him a tremulous, slightly exasperated smile. "Yes, Ron – care, care... You've only seen one side of him. If you could see how beautiful he-" Harry revised his words upon seeing Ron's face screw up so grossly that it threatened to remain that way irrecoverably. "-how human he is. He's also vulnerable, he's got his weaknesses, and his got his ways of dealing with things. I want to figure him out. I want stick it in with him – be with him. I want to be with him."

It really did not sound quite as romantic and stirring and sweet as it did in his mind when relaying it to a fellow male and making it extant in the physical world. But it was what he honestly felt, and he had to tell his friend and make him understand.

Ron looked beside himself. "Bloody hell, mate, you didn't have to go all... there..." This referred to the mushy-gushy stuff. He was looking down at the ground, his face still glowing scarlet. Then he looked up, his lips a little quirked and his brow a little furrowed. "Never thought I'd see this day," he muttered.

"Me too, Ron, me too... So, are we okay?"

Ron's blue eyes peeked out from under his brow. "Let's just go bloody fly a few, all right?" He gave Harry a tiny smile, his bright, blue eyes coming alive again.

Harry returned it and ambled alongside him towards the Quidditch stadium.

"You're an official fairy now."

Harry punched Ron's arm with all his might.

"Ouch, you fairy!"

"That's it. I'm not going to hold back for your pride. I'll just have to leave you in my tailwind."

"Okay, I take it back... You're mastering blackmail already..."

"Ron?"

"Yeah, yeah, all right, all right... You better make sure you're at least behind me once. I couldn't handle being beaten by a poof."

Harry chased Ron all the way to the pitch.


	25. Sacrifice

**Chapter 25**

**Sacrifice**

"Harry, come down here right now!"

Hermione stood at the mouth of the Quidditch pitch, her head turned up towards the figures in the air which were doing loops on an obsolete school brooms. Harry had still managed to leave Ron behind a good half a pitch. When he heard Hermione's scream beneath the light whistle in his ears he squinted down at her and pointed his broom towards the ground. Ron did not follow but took his chances, flying through the goal hoops.

This was an uncommon picture – Hermione was not usually found anywhere near the Quidditch pitch except during Gryffindor matches. Harry slowed to a smooth halt before her, hovering in front of her, quite under the vastly mistaken impression that there was a chance he would return to the skies after he talked to her.

"What's up, Hermione?" he asked, wiping sweat off his brow.

Hermione looked close to popping a vein. A white blur flew from somewhere around her person and slapped him in the face. When he stopped seeing stars he noticed she was holding out what appeared to be one of Dumbledore's letters.

"Professor Strolm," Hermione said very quietly as she struggled to breathe normally in her strain to keep from exploding, "is waiting for you in Dumbledore's office. I think your playtime is over. Get off that broom. And get to Dumbledore's office." Her stilted speech made her seem as though she were experiencing chest pains or could not breathe. It frightened Harry immensely. Not in concern of her safety but rather of his own. "You're keeping the man waiting! He doesn't have all day, you know! He's a professor at Vaux Uni…"

Harry, much like what had nearly happened with Hermione, had stopped breathing when she had been talking and been extremely vigilant as to signs that he was going to become violent. He finally breathed a little easier when she finished her short, fury-bounded sentences and Harry guessed he better make a run for it before she started up any further than she had already. Once she really began there was no way on earth he would be able to stop it. Hermione could sustain a diatribe without needing any assistance or further provocation from her victim. He quickly lowered his broom to the ground and took off for the broom shed to return the Shooting Star.

He caught himself just before he asked what the time was. Hell would have opened up and gobbled him up. But as though she had read his mind she screamed, "It's five minutes to four o'clock, in case you didn't know! You better make sure you're there within the next five minutes or you can _forget_ about borrowing my notes for a month!"

Harry gaped at her silence, hurt by the low blow. He quickened his steps in indignation, furiously chanting in his mind, 'That's not fair!' but set off up the corridor while Hermione's glare kept up with him up the corridor. At some point her hot waves of anger seemed to subside. He suddenly appeared to have returned to the realm of reason and even a little abashed.

"Make sure you take down everything he says – the man's words are worth a Galleon a minute," she said.

"Yes, Hermione," Harry replied in army-like fashion. _I shouldn't have mentioned Professor Strolm in the first place. Why on bloody earth did I mention Professor Strolm in the first place? And actually remind her about Professor Strolm today?_

Hermione's gaze at him was stern and tinged with a slight shade of green.

Harry hurried towards the showers. Seeing this, "Oh, don't even think about taking a shower, Harry!" Hermione shrieked. "You'll just have to smell foul and leave a bad first impression on only the author of four books!"

"I can't even shower? Just a quick-" Harry stopped sharply at the intensified heat of Hermione's glare, and when she slowly and quietly pointed ahead with a quivering finger Harry obeyed without question. He ran until he reached the phoenix gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office. The last time he had been here was early Monday morning with the Order and Draco's parents in Dumbledore's office after returning from Malfoy Manor.

"Lemon Drops!" he panted to the statue, and the gargoyle obediently moved and revealed the spiralling stairs. Seconds later he rapped the griffin brass knock on the tall doors of Dumbledore and heard the familiar, cheerful, "Come in!" Mixed feelings exploded inside him. He proceeded into the office.

"Ah, you arrive at last," Dumbledore said with the usual bright smile and warm look on his face.

He had not said his name. Somehow Dumbledore's demeanour seemed accusatorily cheerful. The pride in his eyes seemed elevated now and his smile too warm. It seemed he was only too happy to see Harry, and the young Gryffindor found himself feeling accosted with that guilt all over again, making him question himself once more. How could he disappoint this man, who only wanted to see the right side triumph? Who only wanted what was best for everyone?

"Afternoon, Professor Dumbledore," Harry mumbled, looking down at his feet. He felt Dumbledore's gaze more piercing than usual even though nothing spoke of whether those eyes remembered that morning at all. It was harder to face Dumbledore without Draco at and on his side.

Dumbledore nodded. "Good afternoon to you, too, Harry. Professor Strolm will arrive in a moment. Mint Toffee?"

Harry's mouth nearly fell open with the shock. That was obscenely unfair. Dumbledore had to be doing it on purpose. When last had Harry been offered a Mint Toffee? It was two weeks ago and he had been in this office four times after that, and he had not be offered any Mint Toffees or Lemon Drops then. Harry could barely look at the man in the eye as he smiled tightly and tentatively grabbed a handful of candies from the proffered bowl. He sat down.

Looking at the less cluttered, neater office it then occurred to him how adversely he affected Dumbledore these days. A week ago he had obliterated Dumbledore's trinkets and bric-a-brac, and only days ago he had led Dumbledore to a duel with Voldemort that exhausted him to the point where he collapsed to the floor. Then came the Slughorn debacle when he failed to seduce his new Potions professor into giving him the memory. And now he had most likely disappointed Dumbledore and crushed his hopes when he refused to be trained in controlling his rage to use it as a weapon.

What happened to that fire of independence that had ignited back in the Great Hall when he had stood beside Draco, confident in his defiant stance? In this office he was confronted with the real truth, less the illusive embellishment that was Draco Malfoy. Without his fascination and attraction towards Draco colouring the background of his mental processes, everything was just bare, clearer, truer, less fantastical, less vague, less euphoric, and mercilessly rawer. It was back to the way things really were. It was like stopping to breathe, and it hurt.

Dumbledore was smiling kindly at him, and his fingertips were touching each other, the charred blackened ones interweaved with the healthy, pale wrinkled ones. There was silence in the room. Dumbledore watched him calmly, still with that smile. The squishing and slapping sound of Harry's chewing could clearly be heard.

Then Dumbledore spoke.

"I trust you have resolved some issues surrounding yourself and Mr Malfoy?"

Startled by the words for the fact that they had broken the silence rather than their content, Harry sat wordlessly for a few moments, his green eyes shocked wide. But he tried to gather himself to reply.

"Er, yes..." he said, his mind not really committing to his words. Then he took several moments to lengthen his answer as he tried to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. "We sorta talked it out, I guess." _Screaming at each other, more like._ Harry remembered the previous night: his confession, Draco crying, coming closer to him, and then finally believing him that he loved him. The kiss… Harry's face grew redder.

Dumbledore nodded sagely, his smile widening slightly across his face, to which action Harry blushed even harder. Then he remembered Dumbledore's eyes twinkling at him in this very office after the Order and the others arrived from Malfoy Manor, the moment after Dumbledore announced that Draco would spend the summer holidays with Sirius at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. This onslaught of embarrassing thoughts only worsened his hot flush and he looked back down at his knees, engulfed by sound mortification.

Wait…

Something was amiss here...

"Excellent. I do hope the two of you find your closure after enduring such terrible events that neither of you did not ask to get involved in," Dumbledore said kindly.

Harry looked back up, shaken out of his reverie. "Yes, sir."

Dumbledore smiled again and then looked around his desk. He frowned. "Hm. It seems I've forgotten my cup of hot chocolate in my chambers. Though at this age I should forgive myself." A chuckle.

Flabbergasted by this, Harry grew a frown. Hot chocolate at four o'clock in the afternoon? Harry knew Dumbledore was a little... quirky... but this was a completely new level of quirkiness. At least his previous cup of hot chocolate at midnight yesterday had granted him some semblance of normality, but this desire for it at four in the afternoon promptly took it back.

Then Harry saw the most amazing thing he had ever seen in his life. It should not have been, considering he had seen many things since his first step in the Wizarding world. But this somehow looked like a completely new kind of magic, a whole new kind of possibility. Astonishment stealing him, his green eyes popping out of his face, lips parted in pure fascination, Harry watched as a fat cup and saucer slowly floated down from the higher parts of Dumbledore's office and sank down towards him, making its quiet, slow, smooth way to Dumbledore's desk.

Dumbledore turned back around in his chair and placed the cup and saucer on his desk, brought the cup to his lips and took a generous sip of steaming hot chocolate at four o'clock in the afternoon.

"I never saw you as the showy type, Dumbledore," drawled Phineas Nigellus Black, his thin, black eyebrow raised, looking quietly impressed and a little surprised at Dumbledore.

Harry was left speechless. That was... that was... wow... It could not be possible, could it? Why could every grown wizard not do that? Why did McGonagall not do it? Or could she not do it? Why did Sirius or Remus or Mr Weasley, Kingsley, Fudge – the Minister for Magic, anybody not do it? Wandless magic... Wow... Harry was gaping and staring at Dumbledore sipping from his cup in utter incredulity. It was a different kind of magic. It was... Something that just seemed to act on its own, controlled by one like that? How could a person do that? How could he be so experienced as to do that? Was it experience? Was it even the person doing that? He had been fascinated by the Burrow when he first went there. Amazed by the self-washing dishes and self-knitting jerseys. But those were controlled by Mrs Weasley after she had cast a spell from her housekeeping books.

Harry did not know where to begin with his exploding questions. His previous self-blame and negative thoughts were categorically dismissed in the light of this awesome show of magical prowess.

"Sir," he breathed, licking his lips, feeling a brief stable of guilt and a sense that he had a nerve asking any questions considering his recent actions and their humbled reception from the man in front of him, "did you do that? Was that wandless magic? What you told me about? What you wa—wanted to t—teach me?" He faltered, only understanding just as he said his words that Dumbledore had wanted to teach him to do this ultimately possibly.

Dumbledore had said that one can control heightened emotions like rage and direct it in a positive, magical way such that it worked to one's discretion so that one can come to a point where one can control his magic so well that one would not require the use of a wand. Was that what Dumbledore had wanted to teach him? To do these kinds of... bloody brilliant... things?

Dumbledore bowed. "Indeed it is, Harry. My wish was to train you so that ultimately you could also be able to do such – forgive me – wonderful feats?"

Unable to answer, his mouth falling open again, eyes sparkling with wonderment, Harry slowly nodded in full agreement. Wonderful feats would be too modest a description.

As he raised his cup to his lips, Dumbledore twinkled his eyes merrily at Harry's taken expression.

Harry forced his bum back into his seat and shut his mouth closed. He had never seen this kind of magic. It was true there were a lot of things floating and existing untethered to anything here at Hogwarts, such as evasive Chocolate Frogs and the bopping candles in the Great Hall. But this... consciously effected performance by a single wizard, done under his will... A mere mortal performing this kind of magic. _Just how bloody freaky can it get?_

He recalled his conversation with Dumbledore a few days ago about wandless magic and his own suspicions of Voldemort being able to perform it as well, and imagined both of these extraordinary wizards – a description that admittedly applied to Voldemort as well – battling it out with mere hand-waving – without wands or anything – conjuring massive towers of fiery snakes and colossal torrents of water. Warring with magic so elevated, so rarer, on such an enormous scale, so much more powerful than the common man was able to perform... Harry shook his head to try to clear it. There was a whole new world of possible magic out there. A whole new, higher level of magic. And Dumbledore knew it.

"I could do that?" Harry all but whispered.

"Boy, he can dream," Black muttered derisively to his neighbour, who grunted noncommittally in vague agreement.

Dumbledore nodded. "Absolutely, Harry," he said with a bright smile. "You could. However, I understand that you do not wish to after this morning. I was deeply disappointed, I must confess, but with equal depth I recognize the importance of choice." Dumbledore's face held neither accusation nor disappointment. It was bright and incandescent with understanding and joviality.

Harry's heart was fluttering. He was actually reconsidering this – he could not be blamed. Flying cups and saucers? What else could it be? It could be summoning things from kilometres away. It could catching a Snitch without twitching a single muscle, or feinting and threatening Death Eaters by making his robes billow angrily and seem all-powerful to scare them off... It was here where Ron would, with immense feeling, exclaim, 'Blimey...'And pride in his friend would plaster a huge grin on his beaming face. Or—or... Draco's... He could imagine impressing Draco...

_Wait, wait, wait, dammit!_ He had been against this mere hours ago. He still felt like Dumbledore had been manipulating him, did he not? And today it had stopped, right? Harry remained silent. He was torn, but he should not have been.

Dumbledore was engrossed by his steaming cup of hot chocolate, gleefully sipping away.

Harry looked aside, his eyes distant, conflicted.

It was betrayal to himself, betrayal to Draco.

What betrayal? Was this really betrayal? How was Dumbledore manipulating him?

When did this all begin? Harry thought back. It was when he had been very angry at Voldemort's depth of evilness and for raping Draco. Then he caused Dumbledore's office to explode in his rage. Dumbledore saw this and thought about exploiting this intense emotion to channel it positively for controlled use. It was not because he wanted to control him. Nor did he have any questionable motive – he was Albus Dumbledore. _He's probably the whitest and goodest person on this planet! He's Albus Dumbledore!_

Harry had second thoughts.

Would this really betray Draco?

The fireplace burst to life.

Unprepared, Harry jumped a foot in his chair as Professor Strolm entered Dumbledore's office in a blaze of green fire.

Dumbledore stood up. "Ah, Colin. Good afternoon. You finally join us."

The tall, strict-looking man with grey hair and a bald patch at the back of his head, dressed in a tawny tweed suit and with a small briefcase in his hand, smiled widely at Dumbledore and shook his hand.

"Afternoon to you, too, Albus." He then turned to Harry. "Ah, yes, our subject of the hour. Good afternoon, Mr Potter. Believe me when I say it's a pleasure to meet you – again." He extended his hand, which Harry shook after leaping out of his chair, giving the man a somewhat shaky and overcompensating smile of his own.

"Good afternoon, Professor. Pleasure to meet you, too, again."

Strolm looked impressed for some reason. His eyebrows wriggled up the broad expanse of his high forehead. He grinned down at Harry before looking back at Dumbledore. "Why is it you always find the most interesting of minds, Albus?"

Not understanding the question, Harry looked at Dumbledore. It registered to him that Professor Strolm's words were quite similar to those of Slughorn on Saturday morning.

Dumbledore chuckled as he resumed his seat. "I assure you I don't find the minds, Colin – the minds find me... willingly." Dumbledore rather emphasized that last word as he nodded slowly at Harry, a small, proud smile on his lips.

Flushing, Harry blinked rapidly as Strolm looked back down at him with the kind of large, indulgent grin he would find in Aunt Petunia's face whenever she spotted a dress whose price was slashed so much that she felt as though the shop was paying her to buy it. His slight jowls compressed into his neck as he pulled back slightly as though to survey Harry from a bird's eye view.

"So, Mr Potter, you're doing your fifth year at Hogwarts? How's the workload? Are you fairing well?" he asked innocently.

Phineas Nigellus snorted quietly. "I suspect not."

But Harry was not at all fooled by the light-hearted inquisition. There was an underlying strictness about this man, and Harry should not believe he could be honest with him and tell him his real academic scores because they were anything but impressive. And Professor Strolm, though coming across as kind and polite, might just take issue with them. He did, after all, have a doctorate under his belt, and that had to have come with some stupendous amount of hard work.

"Er, fairly well, not too bad," he replied evenly. Evasively vague but prudent at a time like this.

Professor Strolm nodded with a ready fashion, which suggested he was also quite aware they were exchanging superficial pleasantries with little or no truth in them. "I must say I was quite impressed by that Patronus Charm of yours the last time I was here. Not many can do that at your age. I still can't cast one to this day!" The man chuckled light-heartedly at himself. Harry gave a single, contrived bout of laughter to humour him. "Excellent, excellent. Well, I guess we should be going and getting started, then. Albus?"

Dumbledore was already shuffling about at his desk. "Oh yes, I will be out of the way in a moment," he assured him. He seemed to be collecting a few things from his desk, his voice muffled as he bent over behind his desk.

Harry frowned. Dumbledore was leaving? He was going to be tutored in his office? But what exactly was he and Professor Strolm going to do? If his memory served him correctly, Hermione, after he dismissed the DA meeting yesterday, had screeched that Professor Strolm had a PhD in Magical Philosophy. So he was going to learn about magical philosophy? What use would that be?

But all thought were chased from his mind as wonderment washed over him again at the sight of Dumbledore smiling as he crossed his office and an inkpot, a few rolls of parchment, some official-looking envelopes and a few gadgets Harry did not recognize followed him mid-air. Harry idly turned as Dumbledore and his floating went past. So captivated was Harry that he did not see Professor Strolm's expression of polite envy.

Dumbledore stopped by the doors, turned around and said, "I do hope you have an enlightening lesson with Professor Strolm here, Harry. Learn as much as you can. And enjoy!" He raised his cup at Harry and swept out of his own office. One by one his stationery slipped through the doors with in natural, shaky manner, further evincing the fact that Dumbledore was indeed controlling the objects.

Why had Dumbledore given them his office to use? Did he want to make Harry feel worse about himself with this overly generous gesture? Or perhaps he wanted him to feel more comfortable, possibly minding how fazed he had been at the start of their first meeting outside the Room of Requirement, where he had been in unfamiliar surroundings.

Professor Strolm cleared his throat, snapping Harry out of his answerless musings. "Yes, well, we should get started. I didn't expect to be doing our lessons in this office," he admitted offhandedly as his eyes roamed around the office in seemingly happy reminiscence. He paced slowly towards Dumbledore's chair as he swept his gaze around the room. "I remember this to be generously more cluttered than this in my days here at Hogwarts."

And who was to blame for that? Harry. He did not speak but resumed his seat.

Was Professor Strolm going to sit in Dumbledore's chair? Harry found himself getting increasingly defensive and indignant as his tutor neared the chair. Harry watched him grasp the arms of the chair with repulsive firmness and lowered himself into the seat with obscene pleasure. This was conflicting heavily with the old, engraved image of Dumbledore and only Dumbledore sitting there with far superior and heavier presence, fingertips touched together just as they were today, and an encouraging smile. This was not right. Harry shifted in his seat, quite unsettled. But he willed himself to just stay calm. Professor Strolm cleared his throat again and leant forward, touching his fingertips together his hands and resting his elbows on Dumbledore's desk, just as Dumbledore was inclined to do.

_By Merlin…_

"Well, Mr Potter, we should begin. Your headmaster contacted me a few weeks ago to persuade him me to tutor you. Needless to say he didn't have to try hard. And here I am about to attempt to teach you about magic. Personally it defies credulity that he felt he needed to invite all the other experts as I think my capacity is single-handedly capable of teaching you what you need to learn. I think Magical Philosophy is by far the most important subject of all. All those other lesser teachings, they are comparatively frivolous. If one could unlock the very secret of Magic itself, of what relevance is Transfiguration or Charms or Defence Against the Dark Arts...? Care of Magical Creatures?"

He burst into chuckles and a drop of saliva shot out of his mouth. As he rode himself to an outright laughing fit, some portraits had raised their eyebrows, looking quite far from amused, while Harry was very quickly finding that he did not like Professor Strolm. He was proud and pompous. He had summarily dismissed Professor McGonagall, Lupin, Moody and Hagrid.

Professor Strolm composed himself shortly before stooping down and hauling up his brown decrepit briefcase onto Dumbledore Dumbledore's desk. He opened it and pushed aside several items in it. Harry could not see what was in the briefcase since the lid was facing him.

"I'm going to teach you about what magic really is," Professor Strolm went on. "I think this is a fascinating topic which has seen many of my university students becoming my protégés." He smiled, as smile that was the closest thing to a smirk, a proud smirk. He leant back into the tall-back chair.

"There are four recognized but forevermore unofficial definitions of Magic. We call them MU-1, MU-2, MU-3 and MU-4. Professor Dumbledore, your headmaster, proposed the latest, most recognized and comprehensive definition – MU-4. He says Universal Magic is a bodiless, non-discrete, dimensionless energy that exists in parallel to, but does not occupy, the atmosphere. The most well-known magical philosopher that had proposed one of the other three definitions was Hester Gamp. Intelligent lady, excellent lady. She had developed MU-2 in her well-known book, _Fundamental Magic_.

"Dumbledore's definition was a point of much contention, primarily because it says that magic does not occupy space and that it defines magic as energy. However, there were far too many merits in MU-4 to dismiss it – it explains a lot about the behaviour and properties of magic." Strolm scrutinized Harry after he finished speaking.

Harry had a good grasp of what Professor Strolm was talking about, which was not comforting to him as they had not come to the hard part he was certain was coming. When Strolm had been speaking of Dumbledore he had berated himself for actually feeling proud of his headmaster. He had no right to feel proud. He had no business being, not after behaving the way he had towards him. He tried to push aside his feelings, as well as his newfound dislike for the man in front of him, and listen to his words.

Then he remembered Hermione: he was supposed to be taking notes. Finding himself panicking after imagining Hermione's face when he would failed to produce a single piece of parchment to her, he try to scramble into action, but Strolm was speaking again.

"Your headmaster is a great man, Mr Potter," Strolm was saying to him with great depth.

Harry averted his eyes. "Yes, sir."

Professor Strolm nodded. He did not appear reluctantly reverent. "Well, I thought there were going to be two of you – Dumbledore had told me there might have been a chance you were going to invite a new friend of yours?"

Harry's face was instantly arrested in awe.

"A new friend?" he whispered.

"Yes. So I supposed he isn't coming?"

"'He?'"

Strolm seemed taken aback. "Well, I assume your friend to be male, yes. Well, unless-" He cleared his throat, flustered for some reason. "-you prefer to surround yourself with the opposite sex rather." The man gave Harry a wary, appraising once-over. "Or Dumbledore has misinformed on that part."

He could not be talking about Hermione.

He had to be talking about the grey-eyed enigma.

Dumbledore had told him he might invite a _new_ friend. It had to mean Draco.

Harry could not believe it.

"Can I—Can I...?"

Strolm frowned dismissively. "Oh absolutely! I can wait while you go fetch... her." Again, Strolm looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Vaguely registering the words, Harry took off, and a few minutes later he was taking the stairs up two at a time and landed on the fifth floor. He quickly crossed the hallway and swerved at a halt where Dumbledore and Draco had stopped yesterday. Only then did it hit him. He had been running fast in elated spirits all the way and had not realized he did not speak Mermish to make the wall shimmer and reveal the secret corridor. Struck senseless, panting from his running, having absolutely no idea on how to get to Draco, Harry just stood there dumbly, turning his head left and right, and looking back at the unyielding, positively solid wall.

_Shit._

Harry could not believe his situation. He could not so energized just to be brought down so harshly by an unforgiving and still positively solid wall. Harry looked left and right of the empty corridor again before he gathered his wits about him and yelled, "Draco!" The wall instantly shimmered away and the dull, small passage appeared in front of him. After being momentarily frozen in incredulity at the rare instance his luck worked for him Harry slipped inside and stood in front of the door on which hung the portrait of an attractive mermaid perched on a rock surrounded by a tangerine sea and a dusky sky. The mermaid was twirling its long, black hair. Harry smiled imploringly at her. Perhaps his rudeness the previous day would play against him.

"Er, hello," he said softly. The young mermaid continued to squeeze her hair dry and blinked at him with exquisite dispassion.

"Er, I—I was hoping to see the bloke that lives here," he giggled.

The mermaid blinked but her continued twirling her hair in silence.

Harry was out of ideas so he decided to knock on the door instead. Perhaps he did not need to talk to her at all. There was no answer so he rapped again on the door, giving a quick glance up at the portrait to see if she wore a triumphant expression but she was merely staring blankly at him. Harry thought he could not really get pissed off by her even if he wanted to as she had not done anything wrong to him. And she understood only Mermish, and that likely meant Dumbledore had given Draco the Mermish secret code. But then why did the wall give way when he had yelled Draco's name...?

The door swung open and Draco appeared. He had changed out of his school uniform and now wearing an unbuttoned, plain-white shirt that was not tucked into his black, satin slacks. And he was barefoot.

"Potter?"

Whatever irritation Harry felt at Draco using his last name evaporated upon sight. Harry was silenced for a while as he scanned Draco's form slowly from top to bottom, unable to help himself. Then his head whipped back up to eye level. "Draco," he muttered, turning a cute crimson.

Draco leant on the frame of the doorway and extended his neck expectantly. "Yes?"

Harry forced himself to speak. Then his prior excitement came back with a force. "Draco, Professor Strolm is here. We can have the lesson together! Dumbledore told him he was going to teach the both of us!" He was panting, sweating, grinning madly.

Draco studied him with a closed-off expression for a while before taking his hand and pulling him into his room, slamming shut the door behind him. Harry was a little taken aback by the aggressive motion but did not mind – he would take being forcefully invited into Draco's room. He looked around. It was not bad at all and the floor was at least tiled.

"Merlin, Potter, you smell like you've never heard of a shower."

Harry flushed as he watched Draco stride over to his bed and sit on the edge, crossing his arms haughtily.

"So Professor Strolm finally arrived, the man who co-wrote _Theories of Magical Unknowns_."

Harry nodded enthusiastically, vaguely recalling seeing that name in the citation on the parchment Draco had given Hermione after the DA meeting. "Yeah, we can both learn about Magical Philosophy. He's waiting for us right now, in case you didn't know. So come on, get ready!" Harry could not help his eyes doing another once-over on Draco: black and white, barefoot, long, blond hair. _Blast it._

"So Dumbledore's calling in experts to teach you stuff to prepare you for the war or something?"

"Yeah!"

Draco shook his head, giving Harry a much colder and less flattering once-over of his own. "I pity you."

Harry's good mood instantly went with the wind. "What's that supposed to mean?" Why did he always have to encounter some form of negativity with Draco?

"The Boy Who Lived, forced to fight the Dark Lord, forced in a fight he didn't start. Has your life always been like this, Potter? Was there always something you had to live up to? Someone you had to listen to?"

"Don't start, Draco."

Draco rolled his eyes and then gave Harry a less harsh once-over. A tiny smile curved his lips. His eyes all of a sudden seemed mistier, and Harry found himself blushing. Draco stood up and stalked over to him.

"You don't have to go back, you know – you can stay with me. We never really finished what we started yesterday because of your early climax," Draco all but purred.

Harry's throat was rid of all moisture. His face could rival the sun in temperature. "What?" he stuttered.

Draco's tiny smile transformed into a smirk as he drew nearer. Harry was unknowingly backing up.

"I said you don't have to go back. Stay with me."

It was not so much the seductiveness of the look in Draco's eyes. Nor was it the way he purred his words. But the fact that his words were a question. Draco was asking him to stay with him – he was giving Harry the chance to elect free-willingly. And what they were going to do if he were to stay was totally irrelevant – he would be with Draco. That was all that mattered.

"I—I—I can't. Professor Strolm is waiting for—Draco!"

Harry was surprised to find himself panicking. He was backed up against a wall with Draco right in front of him. He had all but yelled Draco's name to stop him from approaching any further because Harry was quickly reaching a place where his passion was already stoked. He had a major hard-on, with a raging heartbeat and a sensation was roiling up, springing out of his gut the closer Draco came. Harry was sure he would have another one of those early, embarrassing climaxes.

It was a weird and almost pathetic space in which he found himself: he was so attracted to Draco, so utterly in love with his everything that everything, even the simplest of things such as Draco standing in front of him was ridiculously intensified and elevated. There was still a considerable amount off space between them but it appeared vastly smaller. And Harry felt a live, humming current between them that was drowning his senses into delirium as his body reacted in ways he did not know it could, and doing so in laughable overreaction.

Draco did not seem to have heard Harry for he did not stop closing the distance between them. "Kiss me."

A shock to the system.

"Come on, kiss me." Draco puckered his lips playfully.

Wait, he had not been prepared for this.

Wait, he _had_ been prepared for this: they had kissed the previous night.

But... Draco had been the one to initiate it, and it was not as though Harry had been completely conscious. Something had simply taken over him when their lips had connected. Perhaps it was the basic instincts of human love that drove Harry to seek whatever he wanted. Draco had been the main actor, he had been the one needing the kiss the most, such had been his fragile emotions. Hence it had been easy for Harry to do – he had just opened his mouth and let Draco do whatever, being the provider, and all he had to do was just try to keep up. It had not been a real kiss as Harry would have thought, which he was judging from whatever he knew about kisses in films and having seen a few couples kiss around the school. It had been too desperate, and too awkward, and too necessary.

But now that things were far much calmer Harry was floundering, absolutely bereft of a backbone, without a how-to guide to help him through this. This was different – voluntary. Harry was the one that was now expected to lean forward on his own accord and touch those lips. He had done it in Charms class today amidst his schoolmates, so why was he afraid now? Because Draco was now wide awake.

"Er..."

"Kissing doesn't require speaking, Harry," Draco chided in a sweet lilt, smiling a little. He remoistened his lips and puckered them again. "Come on."

Harry was near hyperventilating, and he was pissed at himself for it. Was he not just the shining example of virginal naivety? The quintessentially morally innocent? Harry almost felt disgusted with himself at the roaring pulse in his ear and the synchronous thump of his penis with his heart. His eyes darted between Draco's eyes and his shining, shell-pink lips. Harry decided to just delve into it all. He leaned forward.

He closed his eyes.

Draco giggled against Harry's lips undoubtedly amused at Harry closing his eyes as Harry sealed their lips together. He let Harry flounder on his own without any help for a few moments as though allowing him this freedom that he had not had before.

Harry just awkwardly pressed their lip, smooching and pecking away at Draco's lips innocently, eyes closed not least because he was not prepared to risk seeing Draco's eyes shining with hinged laughter at his pitiful attempts at intimacy. But even this drew further back in his mind as he became rapidly absorbed in kissing Draco. Then without warning, Harry felt Draco's hand at the back of his head meshing their lips together. Draco opened his mouth further and pried Harry's lips open wider with his own before he started leading them backwards towards the bed.

This was already getting too much for Harry. He was on the edge.

"Do you want me or Professor Strolm, Harry?"

Harry panted the obvious and desperate reply as his legs moved forward by their own volition, as his penis raged against the fabric of his pants, as his forehead creased and straightened with every spike of overwhelming sensation that passed through him.

This was too much.

The world gave way under his feet as he fell on top of Draco on the emerald, silk duvet.

"Draco, I can't…"

He was feeling too good. His drawers were already wet with his pre-ejaculate. But Draco did not heed his words and continued to flick his tongue in his mouth, exploring it. Harry tried to turn his head away but Draco followed it. He devoured Harry's lips like a writhing, restless snake, shooting shocking beads of titillating pleasure down Harry's spine.

Too much…Harry moaned almost pleadingly while Draco gave his own brand of moaning, sounding that sexy, breathy mewl of his.

A foreign power was decidedly in control of Harry's body now. It had to be. He just had to reach that place again. He hips grinded sinuously into Draco's groin, his lips pushed harder onto Draco's, his tongue became a ferocious little muscle that did battle with its other equal. He had not kissed like this before but he was being driven to expert status by this unnamed force, a simple overwhelming need to have and to be completed.

"Draco," Harry panted, almost crying his name.

"Harry."

Draco's hands weaved through Harry's wild hair. Harry's hands pulled and glided through Draco's long hair. Draco's hands slid down Harry's back and squeezed his bum cheeks. Harry's hands slid down Draco's sides and squeezed those pale mounds.

Hands were finding new places, tongues were learning their motions, erections were finding satisfying rhythms. Everything was just…

Harry gave a stuttering, crying moan and his hips jerked wildly as he came violently, his whole body being wracked and overtaken by waves of his orgasm as he arched into Draco. His eyes shut, his face twisted, his breathing stopped, his hands clenched, his toes curled, and his balls asunder. He had not lived those three seconds on this planet. The wave passed and left him as a panting, quivering mass of flesh and bone. When? Why? How? Those were mere questions. He was... he was... he was so... weak... so weak, he could not even lift his eyebrow, could not even twitch his fingers, could not do anything but lay on top of Draco as heavy, blackening exhaustion fell upon him.

"Harry?"

He could hear the words but he could not move to respond, could not even speak. Debilitating weakness … So... weak...

Harry felt Draco shaking him.

"Harry!" he heard Draco hiss more urgently.

Draco had finally had enough and pushed him off.

Then Harry suddenly felt his strength flowing back into his limbs. Moments ago an impenetrable wall of lassitude had fallen on him but he could now move again. He raised his head slightly to look at Draco but quickly left it to fall back on the bed. He remained in that position as he soaked it all up, trying to gather his entire being about him again, for he felt he had exploded in a million different directions. His breathing had normalized for the most part but his eyes remained a little droopy.

The boy next to him said, "Bloody hell, Potter." The words did not even contain due derision but simply astonishment. "So you really are practically a virgin."

Harry did not answer and he did not hear any more questioning statements from Draco. He did not know whether he felt ashamed of himself or not. It really was not his fault – his life had been too tumultuous to focus on relationships. With Voldemort returned and his attacks in various forms in previous years, he simply had not had the time and freedom to experiment and gain experience.

"Harry, I'm really not trying to be rude or anything… But that was even worse than your first time," Draco said as gently as he could, it sounded.

"I haven't had the time, okay?" Harry growled angrily, flying to his feet off the bed, and just as his feet hit the floor, everything came rushing back: the lesson. Professor Strolm.

"Bugger! Professor Strolm!" he hissed. He gave Draco a hesitant glare before his body prepared itself to set off in the direction of the door.

"Come on, Harry," Draco whined. "You know you don't want to go there. Sod Dumbledore and his experts. Face it: you can't go anywhere – you stink, and you're pants were all mushy, I'm sure. You should... take a bath... I also haven't bathed, you know..."

It was twofold: the words first travelled to his ear. Then, like a delayed sonic boom, the meaning a ghastly long moment afterward as he slowly connected the two concepts. Harry did not relax his body, he could barely believe he just heard it. But in a flash his eyes were on Draco.

"Bathe with you?" His words came out quite calm and composed. Draco only gave a come-hither smile.

Draco was truly insufferable, Harry thought, as he was led to the bathroom. His eyes were on the Slytherin's back as he walked in front of him. Was he going to see this body naked? Harry shook his head and dug his heels into the floor, pulling at Draco's hand in the opposite direction.

"Draco, I really have to get back to Dumbledore's office – the man's waiting for me, don't you understand that?"

"You want to go?"

Somehow, in some way, that question did not seem fair. Harry checked the question in every direction possible but found himself unable to answer. "Yes," he replied. But his eyes darted left and right uncertainly, and the hand holding Draco's hand suddenly became inherently awkward and extremely sensitive.

"You really want to go?" Draco asked, like a child attempting to stave off the feeling of abandonment that would come when his parents left.

But now this – persistence – Harry could deal with.

"He's waiting for me, Draco! I have to go! I wanted you to come with me! Let's just go, all right? We we—we can..." Harry grew two pinks spots on his cheeks. "...We can bath later... if you still want to... withmeImean."

Draco just glared at him for a while in silence but then his eyes lost all its heat. "Fine, go," he spat, withdrawing his hand to let Harry's arm hang awkwardly. Draco folded his arms haughtily again, and Harry could spy a slightest crinkle to his nose – the faintest vestige of a sneer.

"Draco, don't be like this."

"The door is right there, Potter," Draco said, with a gracious sweep of his arm.

"Fine!" Harry said loudly, and he started stomping away.

"Don't I get a goodbye kiss?"

Harry stopped dead in his tracks and spun around. His hesitation crept in but he quickly mastered himself. He was tired of acting the big-eyed, innocent virgin. Without thinking about it, which was necessary, and surprising himself, he carried the heat of his attempted exit, went forward with blind and ferocious determination and kissed Draco fully on the lips. He was getting used to this feeling, and that vague, lustful, condensed, springy feeling he always felt in his groin – starting his erection – came again, but not with embarrassing speed.

Draco – Slytherin to the core – capitalized: Harry was not leaving.

All too soon Harry had found a rhythm with Draco's lips. All too soon he started getting that soft sizzle in his groin. Draco's arms first encircled his waist and Harry left his arms were they were.

Only now did he realize that, in front of him, he had a person he could do anything with. Or rather, the person permitted him to do anything with him. A few minutes ago he had squeezed Draco's bum as they kissed, and he had not been reprimanded. Here, again, Harry took the same liberty and heartily squeezed Draco's bum cheeks, really delving in it and feeling it, all its softness and fullness. His hands occupied by that, and his lips occupied by Draco's, Harry thought he had found a wonderful thing here – intimacy – a sweet he had not—could not taste before.

Draco led him into the bathroom. He pushed the door open and walked backwards inside without stopping kissing Harry, who was growing increasingly addicted to this kissing thing. Really, it was something else. So soft, intimate, pleasurable, sweet. And so innocent as well.

The pale hands started making quick work of Harry's school robes, tie and shirt.

"Take my clothes off."

The separation of lips this commanded necessitated allowed Harry to regain enough coherence to undo Draco's buttons – or the rest that were not done. Almost desperate to see what would come of his actions, what his fingers would reap, Harry hastily undid the buttons as he intermittently kissed Draco with his eyes open this time. Ah, and heavenly, pale skin was his reward – alabaster, smooth, blemish-less, simple, perfect. It felt like home to see this again.

With increasing viciousness Harry tore down the rest of Draco's clothing as the other boy did the same to him. Draco had been easy to unclothe, but Draco removed his own clothing with impressive speed and suspicious dexterity. Indeed more questions arose here than ever before about Draco's. But they were vague and misguided and utterly irrelevant to what Harry was experiencing.

As Draco tore himself away to start running the water, and now temporarily bereft of the blazing sensations, Harry realized he was going to be naked with Draco. That his body was going to be exposed to someone. He all of a sudden felt immensely self-conscious as Draco stooped down and regulated the water to the right temperature, splashing in a couple of colourful bubble bath potions into the water and causing it to start foaming instantly.

"You know, this isn't fair," Draco said. "You've seen my body already so it's nothing new to you."

Refusing to just stand there and blush any longer, Harry thought about Draco's words. "Well," he started with uncharacteristic daring, a slightly devilish grin spreading on his face, "there's one thing I haven't seen of yours."

Draco raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and folded his arms. "Oh, and what's that?"

Harry did not speak for a moment, hesitant. _Bloody hell, what am I thinking?_ Perhaps it was too bold and inappropriate. _But we're bathing together, for Pete's sake! Inappropriate?_ Harry mustered his courage and quickly assumed the same adventurous air that made him begin his sentence.

"Your arse," he finished. It was true: in his dreams Draco had been always been facing him, so he had not been able to see his backside at any time. This was one more bow-tied present he could open up: he wanted to see Draco's arse. He knew what if felt like.

A dark shadow slowly crossed Draco's face, making Harry's grin falter.

"I'm sorry," Harry rapped immediately. He knew there had been good reason for his hesitation – Draco's bum had been the focus of his rape experience. Perhaps Draco was sensitive about that area of his body.

"Sorry about what?" Draco asked, the shadow shortly departing, replaced by a soft, inquiring smile.

"About what I said – it wasn't right."

"There was nothing you said that was wrong," Draco replied as he approached Harry and gave him a long, deep kiss. "Take my pants off," he said between kisses.

A few minutes later they were surrounded by warm water and a sea of purple foam. The initial colours of the potions had combined and formed this deep purple. Harry was never adept in Potions so he could not argue potion colours. He had giggled and impulsively slapped Draco's arse as the pale boy waggled it in front of him. After the initial embarrassment Harry had started feeling more comfortable with being seen nude by another person. Ron had never seen him naked, nor has he seen Ron naked before. But it was just another boy, right? He had gotten an idea of the male physique. He judged that he and Draco were more or less similarly built. But of course he was certain he could never approach Draco's sexiness, that effortless provocativeness that he had seen in motion in his... nightmares? Dreams…?

They sat separated by a channel of purple foam. Harry's legs were open against the walls of the tub while Draco had folded his own underneath him. He had filled the bathroom to the maximum, so much to Harry's chagrin there was really little he could see.

"Why did you come in here stinking like a Giffy in mating season?" Draco asked, as he explored his body.

"I was flying with Ron. And what the bloody hell is a Giffy?"

"M-"

"Yes, Muggle, I know," Harry deadpanned.

Draco smirked and flicked a jet of water at Harry playfully.

"Oi!" Harry squeaked indignantly. But as he sat in the tub gaping at Draco, he captured this image right now in front of him and made sure to engrave it in his mind so that that moment would live forever it: Draco smirking, not maliciously but cheekily, half of his alabaster-pale chest gleaming wet, his long, platinum-blond hair matted, stringy and littered with balls of purple foam, and silver eyes glowing with amusement. Harry felt a fuzzy flutter rising in his chest as a huge smile spread across his face. In access and euphoria he most ignominiously said, "You're beautiful, Draco."

And Draco's features instantly morphed.

_Bugger._

"Merlin, Potter, what the bloody hell was that? A bloke doesn't say just what you said to another bloke! What's wrong with you?" Draco seemed frighteningly genuine. "Promise me you will never go all-" He gestured vaguely and wildly with his hands. "-fluffy, Hufflepuffy again like that. Promise!"

Harry, instead of feeling mortified, burst out in laughter, amused at his own words and Draco's near panic. Draco looked both taken aback and offended by this.

"Potter!"

"Okay, okay, I promise!" Harry managed to hiccup. He calmed himself, letting out a deep, smiling sigh. And right then, in that moment, feeling high-spirited and content and wonderful, Harry could almost say he was the happiest bloke alive.

_Merlin. Is this what people look for in... er... relationships?_ This contentment, this happiness, this fulfilment that was really beyond anything of this world, beyond the materialistic and the physical? Was Harry beginning to understand that secret behind those sickening daytime soapies Aunt Petunia always indulged in from dawn till dusk? Was this what they were trying to show them? Was this love? After all he had confessed before that he loved Draco. Perhaps his mind was now catching up to that fact or to that promise to Draco.

"'Beautiful…'" Draco snorted, shaking his head.

Harry grinned. He was in full agreement with Draco he should refrain from such horrendous sentimentalities, even though he could feel them literally hanging on the tip of his tongue. 'I've never felt like this before, about anyone,' 'You're beautiful, Draco,' 'I feel so happy when I'm with you,' 'I love you.'

"So what the hell is a Giffy?" Harry asked conversationally.

"It's a—er..." Harry looked on expectantly at Draco as he played with the foam. "It's a..." Draco swam closer. "It's this... rather ugly, smallish animal..." Harry felt Draco's legs graze his own. His prick was hardening with impressive speed. "It lives in the bushes just after the greenhouses behind the gardens of the manor..." Draco slowly straddled him, mounting his middle. Every feline motion was sinuously fluid in the water.

Harry was doing well to remain calm. He made a noise to indicate for Draco to continue.

Draco's hands slowly felt up Harry's arms and then rested on his shoulders. "It's a cross between a hippogriff and a Phiggle..."

_By – the – gods… _They were naked now. It was totally different now. No rough clothes in the way, no form of... protection or buffering. No, Harry was not going to think like this – he did not want be the hesitant virgin anymore. It was time he started growing a hard head and act resolutely. It was time he stopped being scared and quivered like the shame of manhood. Draco's words after they had kissed on the bed about Harry climaxing prematurely had stung more than he would like to admit. And they stung more because Draco had not intended to be derogatory, instead honest. Draco had been amazed at his lack of experience. Harry did not want to feel inadequate – not to a bloke whom he could fly loops around in a Quidditch match, the bloke he could just overpower in a corridor duel.

Harry's hands came up and slowly roamed over the gleaming, wet skin. "Now what the bloody hell is a Phiggle?" he asked, as though nothing was amiss, staying in scene.

Draco clucked and smirked, nearing his face into Harry's. "Oh, Potter, you're bloody worthless, you know that?"

"Really?" Harry whispered rather incompetently as Draco put his lips to his again.

Draco deepened the kiss as he sunk lower into Harry, who felt the head of his penis graze one of Draco's butt cheeks. Harry drew back slightly from other lips to gasp but Draco sought him out again and recaptured his lips. He sank lower and Harry felt his prick sliding so wonderfully through the channel of the crevice between the mounds of Draco's arse. Draco jumped backwards as though he had touched a live wire under water, and a look of horror gripped his face in his flight before it was quickly done away with as the boy landed back on the bathtub floor with a comical sort of nonchalance.

"Draco! I'm sorry, I—I-" Harry spluttered.

"It's not your fault," Draco said in a low, flat voice as he looked down at the water.

Harry watched Draco quietly. It was harder, Harry surmised, to deal with a boy since males did not bare their emotions in the open as women did. He knew he was treading on eggshells if he spoke again. He probably should not – Draco would not want to talk about his horrors.

"Do you want me to go?" Harry asked.

"Yes."

_Okay, wow,_ Harry thought breathlessly. _That was… Okay…_ Reeling from his unexpected dismissal Harry dazedly, and a little awkwardly, rose out of the purple, foamy water and stepped out, foam running down his legs and water dripping off his feet onto the floor. He looked around the bathroom wildly in his exposed state, searching desperately for a towel. Draco pointed it to a dark-green fluffy one hanging from a rail next to the toilet. He reached for it and dried himself very quickly before tiptoeing out of the bathroom.

"You can use my lotions and stuff. They're in the wardrobe," Draco said, in an even flatter tone and as he continued to stare at the bathwater.

Harry looked back and nodded before he closed the door behind him. He ended up using only a fraction of Draco's cosmetic collection: the lotion and some deodorant. Skipping to the door, he threw his clothes back on and ran out of the room for Dumbledore's office, the last image his in mind being of a pale, crestfallen face: Draco was still reeling from what had happened to him back in Malfoy Manor. He had some psychological baggage to sort out, and Harry hoped that he knew he was there for him, ready to help him through it...

The face floated in the front of his mind, crestfallen, scared, broken, terrified, horrified… But then it was superimposed with a flat, chalk-white one bearing deadly, crimson slits… Voldemort was the cause of this, the cause of Draco's shattered psyche. And Harry was so going for him – Voldemort was so going to pay for this. Harry decided to learn wandless magic.


	26. Destiny

**Chapter 26**

**Destiny**

The phoenix gargoyle stepped aside after Harry screamed the password at it. He wiped sweat off his brow, stepped onto the ascending stairs and seconds later barged into Dumbledore's door.

It was empty.

Professor Strolm was not sitting in Dumbledore's chair and Dumbledore had not returned from wherever he had gone. _Dammit!_ Harry brought his arm and read his watch at 17:11. Professor Strolm must have left ten minutes ago, assuming the tutorial was supposed to be an hour long. And he had missed it. Because of Draco. And the kissing on the bed, and the bath... Harry shook his head to clear his thoughts. He could not be thinking about that while he was in Dumbledore's office – it was just... not right.

Panting as he stood in the empty office of his headmaster, Harry did not really mind that he did not have to stand any longer Professor Strolm, who had been arrogant and overly proud of his academic standing, dismissing the expertise of the nearly the entire Hogwarts staff as though Magical Philosophy alone was all there was to know about magic from Transfiguration to Care of Magical Creatures.

His rise and fall of his chest eased and his sweat was evaporating rapidly off his skin as he looked around the room. What was he to do with no one here? When would Dumbledore come back? Harry took the chair in front of the large desk and awaited Dumbledore's return.

Sitting in the middle of the office his attention wandered. It was much too still for his liking when he felt so energized and ready. The portraits lining the walls of Dumbledore's office wore their usual haughty, unwelcoming expressions. Some occupants were already napping at five o'clock in the evening, and Harry, with great relief, noticed that Phineas Nigellus Black was not in his portrait.

His hands began to fidget. It suddenly grew a little cold in the room. He adjusted himself in his chair, took a deep breath, exhaled dramatically and rearranged his glasses... With none of Dumbledore's trinkets to idly analyse after he obliterated them his wandering eye fell on the closet door at the other end of the office.

Harry remembered this closet. It held Dumbledore's Pensieve, the same one he had stumbled upon curiously the previous year after waiting for Dumbledore as he was now and discovered Dumbledore's memories of the Crouch men in a courtroom situated below the Ministry of Magic. A year later, just what more did Dumbledore's Pensieve hold? What further memories could Dumbledore have added to it?

Images flitted across his mind of a staggering Dumbledore and a pitifully dead hand grasping weakly at the wall to balance him… Dumbledore slouching in his seat, breathing raggedly, his eyes a depthless ice blue... Then agleam with excitement and inspiration as he told him, Harry, to take out his wand… Then immediate darkness and fuzzy and unclear grey expanse just as he emerges from his dream of Draco being tortured…

Harry eyed the doors of the closet holding the Pensieve intensely. Could Dumbledore have stored his recent memories? Including the ones involving Draco? Harry had demanded Dumbledore tell him what would happen to Draco that Sunday before Slughorn had arrived through the fireplace. Perhaps he could get his answer now. And perhaps he could also see what happened that Saturday night when Draco accompanied Dumbledore to his office to take the Unbreakable Vow. Harry could find so many answers...

He stood up. He had an feeling he was going to regret this. Curiosity had always been a vice of his and most of the time it spelt disaster for him. His eyes fixed on the door as he slowly crossed the floor towards it. Once there, even though he was the only soul in the room, he turned around and swept his eyes across the line of portraits, of which the majority of the occupants appeared dispassionate as some of their neighbours slept on. His eyes finally landed on a portrait of a mature woman with purple robes and elaborate jewellery. She stood out and did not have the appearance of an ex-headmaster.

Unlike the other portraits she was staring directly at him as she perched herself on a green couch. Harry's pulse surged and he reconsidered his intentions. What if this woman told Dumbledore he had been snooping around in his Pensieve again? But promptly following this bout of misgivings was a righteous indignation stemming from the fact that Dumbledore was keeping some things from him and it was time he found out what. Resolutely removing his gaze from the portrait of the old woman, Harry took a deep breath and opened the closet's doors wide.

There it was – the Pensieve, swirling with countless, gossamer tendrils of memories. The substance in the bowl of the Pensive was neither solid nor liquid and seemed to vaporize without rising and escaping, as though the vapour shifted in and out of several states at once. It was an inexplicable but stunning sight. Casting a final, nervous look at the door, Harry stepped inside the closet, drew out his wand from his robes and tentatively made to touch its tip to the surface of the swirling mass.

But before wand and Pensive met his eyes were drawn to a round lidded bronze container placed inconspicuously amongst the vials containing Dumbledore's memories. Harry frowned – he had not seen this object last year. He withdrew his wand from above the Pensieve and grabbed the curious container.

Popping the beautifully engraved lid open, Harry looked down at another batch of gossamer tendrils swimming in a sea of liquid-solid substance. His insides clenched for some reason. He licked his lips, hurriedly brought up his wand and thrust it into the container and stirred. The mass roused at once and turned a dark orange colour. Harry squinted into the container but could not make out anything from the swirling orange. He looked back at the doors of Dumbledore's office to confirm that they did not look like they would betray him and let Dumbledore through just yet, grabbed his last ounces of daring and dumped the contents of the bronze container. Faint, smoky colours mixed into each other. Harry brandished his wand again and stirred the Pensive. An image formed.

It was that same dark orange tinge. Harry put the container aside and took a deep breath before stooping down and touching the tip of his nose to the surface of the Pensive.

He was falling...

Falling...

And...

He landed into an enclosed area. Then a crushing panic gripped his chest as his eyes landed on the smiling, gleaming red slits of Voldemort. A stuttered gasp escaped his lips. Voldemort was reclining on a large emerald-quilt bed, grinning madly, his face radiating a malicious delight. And he was staring intently at... Almost idly, Harry followed the direction of his gaze and his own eyes fixed on the dark wood door in which a pair of Ms were intricately carved.

_No._

Harry started shaking his head in dismay. _No, no, no, no, no…_ He looked back at Voldemort. The grin only widened across his face. The scarlet gleam of his eyes only intensified. Voldemort was practically glowing with unadulterated lust. Harry knew what was about to happen. His face twisted halfway into a scowl and halfway into a look of entreaty as he glared at Voldemort, who was lightly covered in his black robes – obviously he was prepared for the occasion.

Harry could not believe this. He was standing in the same room he had seen in his dreams. The fire in the fireplace cast an eerily warm light over the room, and its orange flames were reflected in the mirror one the other side of the room.

The door clicked open.

Harry stopped breathing.

Emerald robes peeked from behind the door. Slowly, more folds of robe were revealed as a barefooted Draco stepped into the room and sealed the room shut.

Harry was nearly crying. _No. No, Draco._

Draco's hair was not gelled but left to hang naturally and gracefully. His dark-green robes were not fastened up but left open and partially exposing his torso, upper thighs and groin. The hem of the robe swept along the floor as the feet slowly approached the repulsive species rested on the bed.

Vaguely knowing it would not change a single blasted thing, Harry still dived in front of the pale boy and tried to push him back and scream at him to stay away. But his hands only fell into Draco and emerged from the other side. Draco ghosted through him and continued towards the bed. He climbed onto it and assumed a deferent and defeated posture.

Harry wanted to pull his hair, gouge his eyes out. He was not going to see this again. Seeing it like this, for the second time, from a general point of view like a film, made it feel all the more frightening and heart-wrenching. Harry had not thought himself a danger to Draco when the Slytherin came over to him in his dreams. The true gravity of the situation did not register to him when he had also shared that lust of Voldemort's as he feasted over Draco's form. Only now was he seeing this from a different angle, and it seemed was far more merciless.

No. He did not want to relive this. The soothing warmth and soft light of the fire bestowed a strange and misplaced romance upon the room. Harry could not help his attention from been drawn to the bed.

The affair somehow felt much shorter than it had been in his dreams. Seconds later seemingly, Voldemort unleashed himself and thrust unreservedly and painfully into Draco's meagre form. The sight of the both of them completely naked was profoundly wrong. Voldemort was as unnaturally pale as chalk under Draco, who was a creamy peach due to the fire reflecting on his skin as he was rocked mercilessly by Voldemort's pumping motions. Harry witnessed for the second time the rape of his then school nemesis. He witnessed for the second time the rape of his new love. Voldemort was raping his love... Harry was almost blind, his tears blurred his vision, his overbearing anguish arrested his heart, making his heaving chest stutter as it aimlessly dragged breath into the silently screaming depths of his lungs.

_Draco…_

"No..."

Harry wanted to drop to the floor and fold up into a ball and just cry. He could not watch this again. A teardrop from each eye ran down Harry's cheeks, met at the point of his chin, combined into one and fell to the floor. How could he do this...? A mere teenager, a schoolchild, his follower's son...

_He's Voldemort._

Voldemort's sickeningly high-pitched grunts filled the room, viciously intruding into Harry's ears, relentless with the cold relish and pleasure they bore.

"Fuck you, you snake!" Harry bellowed, but he was totally helpless. He knew this was not real, but the scene could not be sharper, it could not feel much more real. _It's only a memory. It's only a memory. It's only a memory._ The words were but did not sink in. What did so were Voldemort's cawing, pleasure-riddled grunts. Harry felt he was the one being raped, tainted by these images and sounds, defiled and stripped of his innocence. He had felt so before when he had seen all of this through Voldemort's eyes in his dreams, but not this brutally stripped.

He did not know what do to with himself. But he could not look away. He felt in some strange way obligated to share this atrocity with Draco, suffer with him, do his own suffering justice by witnessing it and giving it an audience.

He had not seen this part: without warning, Voldemort released a screeching caw as his body arched into Draco's, driving his shaft to the hilt into Draco, before he, with infuriating nonchalance, casually shoved the limp body to the side.

Harry saw red. He could barely breathe, his green eyelashes were soaked with tears, his cheeks shone with them, his whole body shook from the inside, taken over by an insidious gangrene of horror and disgust. He could not even speak. He could only watch as Voldemort grinned with infinite satisfaction, sated and settled. He could only watch as the red eyes roamed decadently over Draco's crumbled form lying on the bed, and could only watch as Voldemort sweetly hissed, "You may leave, Draco."

It was surely impossible for someone to be this cruel. Surely.

Harry watched as Draco, with visible difficulty, lifted himself from the bed, pulled at the edge of the bed and dragged the rest of his body off, landing on the floor with a soft thud and out of sight. Harry dashed across the room, wiping his eyes and sniffing. Draco was on the floor, starting to crawl, but then he dragged himself up with the edge of the bed again, messing up and corrugating the emerald duvet. Harry watched. He could not even help Draco.

_It's just a memory. It's just a memory. It's just a memory._ It still was not sinking in.

Draco staggered as he inched forward, his one hand keeping hold of the duvet to steady himself. Harry looked at Voldemort, who watched all this with absolute dispassion: he neither smiled nor grinned nor glare nor grimace in disgust. There was only serene impassivity on his flat, pale face, and the cackling fire made his scarlet slits gleam like slivers of ruby and made the face gleam with a quiet, hinged recklessness. And suddenly Harry found himself asking if Draco was ever going to make it to the door.

He pushed his thought away and followed Draco towards the door, scrutinizing every inch of his face, silently willing the boy forward, cheering him forward with every step. He begged in his heart, _Please let Draco leave this room_. For what if Voldemort decided on a whim to toss a Cruciatus Curse at Draco just as he made it to the door? But finally they made it to the door. Draco's beautiful fingers struggled to find purchase on the door before the boy seemed to realize that he had to grab onto the doorknob, twist and pull.

After doing so Draco slowly slid out of the room, Harry ghosting alongside him through wall and into the hallway. Draco closed the door shut and fell to the floor. Harry jerked forward instinctively but then realized he was of no use. This was still just a memory. Why was he so involved in this recreation when it really was not even real? He nevertheless crouched down next to a naked Draco, who had not collected his flimsy robes that he had dropped on the floor beside the bed.

Draco wept as he braced himself against the floor without letting his undoubtedly tender buttocks touching the floor. His tears splattered on the rich, white floor of the manor and his sobs wracked his naked frame.

_Draco..._

Harry reached for Draco's hand and superimposed upon it. They were not touching but Harry could almost feel him. Bright, green eyes gazed down at the cascading white-blond hair, hiding the face from the world.

Suddenly there came heavy footsteps from ahead of them. Harry's heart leapt into his throat. Draco's hair flipped back as his head snapped up, silver eyes frozen in alarm, the sobs instantly choked. A figure was making its way down the corridor with quick, measured strides, and as Harry watched the elder Malfoy bearing down on them, his hand instinctively tried to tighten around Draco's but Harry's fingers did not even graze the cold floor. As suddenly as they had begun the footfalls ceased and the tall figure of Lucius Malfoy was upon them, a long, sweeping robe adorning his elegant figure and white-blond hair resting gracefully on his broad shoulders.

Malfoy gazed down at Draco with depthless, grey eyes. Instead of their sparkling silver they were a matte, dull lead. His face held neither sympathy nor resentment. Draco was looking up at Malfoy, his face shining with tears.

"Can you walk?" It was a question in a statement. So calm, so empty…

Draco's eyelashes fluttered before he cast his head down. His limbs started gearing into motion. A few cricks sounded as Draco shakily drew himself to his full height before his father. Harry also rose.

Malfoy looked silently down at Draco, who stared back at him. Malfoy's eyes rose above Draco's head and stared down the hallway before the man turned on the heel of his boot and glided the other way without a single word to spare for his son. Draco did not seem perturbed by this and was already working on a way of moving himself forward. But he looked nervous about walking. He braced himself and steadily took a step forward. He put another foot in front of the other as Harry copied him beside him.

Harry looked at Lucius down the hallway. He had not even graced his son with a glance over his shoulder. Draco was clearly struggling to keep up with his father, grimacing with each step. But before Harry could throw another ugly look at Lucius' back, Lucius suddenly spun around, crossed the floor with a single step and hauled Draco off his feet and into his arms – all with the speed of a white fox.

Stunned by both the suddenness of the motion and how alien the gestured seemed, Harry quietly followed the Malfoys from behind. He could see the pair of pale legs dangling over the man's arms and Draco's hair tossing about on the other side as Draco's arm encircled his father's neck. Once they got to the other end of the hallway Malfoy turned left, then made a few more turns and suddenly stopped in front of a door.

A few seconds of inaction passed before Malfoy looked down expectantly at his son, whereupon Draco's hand sheepishly shot forward, twisted the doorknob and opened the door. Harry had never seen Draco so awkward before.

Harry immediately shuffling noises from within the room. Malfoy swept inside, his long robes fluttering in the wind he stirred. Harry stepped inside through the door even though he had liberty to ghost through the wall as he had done a minute ago.

It was strange to see a dead person again. Harry watched from the door as Snape swooped over to Malfoy and scooped Draco out of his arms. Draco's mother sat down on the brown suede couch on which Snape gently laid her son. Narcissus' hair was the worst Harry had ever seen it: strings of golden-blond hair had freed themselves from the tight bun and a few more hung over her face. Even though that familiar, eerie, serene calmness to her face still persisted, Harry could see the worry on its porcelain surface. There were lines that had not been there when he had seen her in that corridor outside Dumbledore's office that Sunday.

Harry approached the three and stood at the head of the couch, close to Draco.

The room they occupied was relatively large. It had a dark palette and featured an unlit fireplace in the far corner, shrouded by the shadows made by the furniture. Beside it stood a large, wooden room divider than stretched across nearly the entire breadth of the room. On the adjacent wall were two tall bookcases extending to the ceiling and filled with easily sinister-looking books.

Snape's black robes billowed furiously as he glided across the room towards a leather bag sitting on the large, antique room divider. He snatched it and scrambled through it as he returned to the couch. His long, potion-stained hands emerged from the bag with a few vials of multi-coloured potions and a pair of gloves. Snape's usually sullen and stoic face looked fatherly somehow as he approached Draco. There was possibly more emotion in that face than Harry had ever seen in his five years of Potions class, and he found it distinctly disconcerting.

"Draco."

Draco's face was strategically partially hidden by his hair.

"I'm going to have to apply these," said Snape with surprising softness in his voice, though that nasal twang of his broke the effect somewhat.

Draco did nothing for a moment. Then his eyes shot to his father, a stern guardedness stealing his face. Snape followed Draco's gaze towards Lucius. Such attention gathering on him, Lucius merely raised his eyebrow and looked from Snape to his wife to Draco. Narcissus' head was tilted a little to one side and her lips had that inexplicable, very slight upward curl as though they held the infant of a smile.

"Lucius, I need to apply the potions," Snape repeated.

"And what stops you, Severus?" Malfoy asked with soft coolness in his voice.

Snape did not answer.

"Lucius," Draco's mother said, in her voice a mixture of a plea and a command.

Malfoy stared at his wife for a moment and then looked down at Draco before saying, "Very well. I'll wait outside, then." He gave a final impassive glance at Draco and swept out of the room.

Narcissus turned her attention back on Draco.

"Draco?" Snape said.

Wordlessly, slowly, Draco turned around, lay on his stomach and raised his buttocks into the air. Harry saw him burying his head deep into the couch, his long hair obscuring his face.

Draco's mother moved aside to leave Snape to it. Snape approached Draco's backside. He opened the vial of the dull yellow-brownish potion and dipped no less than three hands into it, coating them generously. Harry did not want to see this. Why was everyone targeting Draco's arse? Yes, it was irrational indignation but Harry could not help but feel this way. Was not it enough that Voldemort ravaged it, now Snape was going to poke around in it?

Harry heard Draco's breath catch as Snape presumably stuck a digit into his anus. Harry felt bittersweet about seeing Snape 'alive' again and seeing him doing this to Draco. He knew Snape had the best of intentions but suffice it to say Harry was not in a reasonable state of mind after seeing Voldemort raping Draco again, and so brutally, so differently from that new perspective, so much more merciless, debauched…

Draco moaned. Harry blanched and was beyond disgusted with himself for having a tidal wave of arousal rush down his body at the moan of pain, and this sound being elicited by Snape. Harry stood motionlessly, jaw clenched, and refused to look down at Draco's head, so utterly mortified he was.

"I'll just be a minute, Draco," Snape said quietly with that surprising touch of tenderness. "Don't clench," he warned, and his familiar steeliness returned. But instead of the usual darkening of his eyes, they had a strict gentleness about them.

Narcissus sat on the arm of the couch, crossed her ankles regally and stroked Draco's hair with long, pale, graceful fingers. She had a similar Malfoy family ring on her hand as the one Draco wore. Again her head tilted to the side as she looked down, her eyes distant, as though she was staring right through Draco.

"Hush, my dragon. Don't cry so much. Morrow I promise, fun we'll have much..."

Snape looked inquisitively at Narcissa, seemingly surprised as Harry was, but he silently resumed his ministrations on Draco.

"We'll trip to Fortescue's and buy your sundae. Then buy some broom frills and have us a day..."

Visibly Draco's shoulder's dropped as he relaxed, sinking further into the couch.

"Frolic in the gardens and laugh, we shall. You'll gift me a narcissi and I'll match you with a kiss..."

If Harry thought the calming rhyme was strange coming from a usually passive mother, he did not know what to think about the single tear running down her bony, marble cheek. Seeing any Malfoy showing emotion was alien to Harry, even from a woman. Draco's mother's face was usually strangely unreadable. He watched the two Malfoys. Was Draco closer to his mother than he was to his father? If so, Harry completely understood, but it was still shocking to associate feeling with any Malfoy.

He noticed Draco's head moving slightly under his mother's hand as she petted his hair but Harry still could not see his face, which was buried into the couch. Snape continued impassively working on Draco's body, making twisting motions with his wrists behind the rise of the mounds of Draco's buttocks.

"Everything will be all right, my dragon," Narcissus whispered to her son.

Snape stood up after extracting his hand from Draco's body. "I'm done, Drac-"

Before he could finish speaking the door flung open and all four of them turned towards it and watched Lucius fly into the room.

"The Dark Lord's rousing from his satiety," he said with tight, wry bitterness.

Snape and Narcissus' could do nothing but confoundedly watch Lucius standing at the door. Only when he made quick, panicked movements did the pair Snape out of their astonishment and the room suddenly sprang into life. Harry watched as Malfoy swept to the back of the room. Snape quickly put his potions back into his leather bag while Narcissus prompted her son into turning around gingerly and rising from the couch. There was relief painted all over her face. Harry had not idea of what was going on, but the almost panicked demeanour of Malfoy was enough to give him a faint idea.

There was a thinness and coldness in the air in the shuffling room. It was a feeling and aura intrinsic in those times just before something significant happened, like the moment in the graveyard when Harry became decided and emerged from behind the tombstone to face Voldemort instead of cowering away. Or that time when Voldemort had torched the room and the only way out of it was through the same door behind which stood Voldemort, when he had opened the door and was immersed in that still, silent, dead aura around Voldemort, just before dying. Or that time just when Draco had came over to the Gryffindor table, that moment just before he said those maiden gracious words. It was an instance in time that felt thin, shaky and impressionable – a time when destinies split into a thousand different directions. And whatever direction what one took brought about a defining moment.

Malfoy emerged from the recesses of the dark room carrying an emerald robe identical to the one Harry had seen Draco wearing when he had spotted him staggering in that corridor outside Dumbledore's office that Saturday night. It had been just after he had that first nightmare.

Then it dawned on Harry. Now Harry remembered. Now he understood. Judging by the uncharacteristic urgency in Malfoy's motions and the subtle confusion with which Snape and Narcissus looked on at him, which suggested that Lucius' actions were indeed unexpected, Harry realized that this was moment Malfoy chose to save his son – a decision he probably made when he had been waiting outside. He had decided that it might not be worth it. He had decided that perhaps he loved his son too much to see him at the feet of his snaky master as his catamite. So Malfoy would decide, and then Draco would go back to Hogwarts on Sunday night to secure an allegiance with Dumbledore. This was the moment in time when everything changed, when destinies shifted into a new direction.

As Lucius quickly threw on the robe onto Draco he said, "Listen carefully, Draco." The muffled glint in his steely eyes, the calmness and lack of emphasis in his words disturbed Harry. It showed that this man's words were to be listened to regardless of whether they were trivial or grave. They came from a man who easily commanded attention. Shoving an arm in a sleeve, Lucius continued, "You're going to immediately Floo back to Hogwarts. Once you arrive in Snape's quarters you will make your way to the headmaster's office and seek his refuge. Beg if you have to."

With that sharp command a muscle jumped in Lucius' jaw – undoubtedly arising from dented Malfoy pride in the need to beg to anyone, never mind Albus Dumbledore of all people. He took Draco's arm and led him to the fireplace, where he drew his wand and roused the fireplace to life. Green flames flared up and threw an eerie green light on the three marble faces of the Malfoys. Narcissus grabbed a black ornate bowl from the mantle of the fireplace which was likely filled with Floo powder. There came a brief moment in which Snape and the Malfoy family stared silently and almost distantly into the blazing fire.

Then Lucius pushed Draco forward. "Go, Draco, now," he commanded. He turned to Snape. "We should be available for our Lord."

Draco stumbled forward, turned around and took in each of the faces that gazed back at him. His hand delved into the small bowl his mother was holding up to him, he glanced swiftly at the adults one more time before swallowed, lifted his arm and yelled, "Hogwarts – Severus' quarters!" The flames roared furiously about his feet and engulfed him completely just as Harry felt the world whir and spin.

He was rising...

Rising...

And...

He fell back on the hard floor of Dumbledore's office. A yell of pain escaped his lips as his back connected with the stone floor. Injured, he rose from the floor, staring at the Pensieve from afar. He spotted the bronze container. Panic washed over him. He dashed forward and put it back in its rightful place, lest it be discovered he had been snooping around again. Relieved, he backed up from the closet.

"Curiosity got the better of you again, Harry?"

Harry's legs spun around and his bulging eyes landed on the tall, thin figure of Dumbledore.

"Professor," he gasped, caught off guard.

Dumbledore chuckled at him before stepping further into the room. "May I ask what it was you sought in my Pensieve, again?"

Harry flushed. He was accosted by that sickeningly familiar lather of guilt, self-blame and self-depreciation. He had been disrespectful towards Dumbledore only to snoop around in his office. Embarrassed enough, he did not answer the question.

"Sorry, sir."

Dumbledore's silver eyebrow rose, noting this declination, but it did not seem he was going to push the issue.

"I don't suppose you were curious about _my_ old memories," Dumbledore remarked offhandedly.

Harry grew even redder. However, reminded of Voldemort raping Draco, Draco screaming and crying, Voldemort's decadent grunts, those lustful, red slits, a quiet, calm sense of determination began to build up in Harry. His hands slowly drew into fists, his feeling of embarrassment receded to the recesses of his mind and his face slowly morphed with stony resolution.

"However, Harry, if I suspect correctly, those were very private memories entrusted in my possession. Although I wouldn't terribly mind you browsing my own memories at your random discretion, even though informing me prior would be a nice gesture, the other batch of memories were strictly forbidden. I believe their owner wouldn't have wished you to view them."

Harry looked down guiltily at the floor. He conceded Dumbledore was right – Draco would not be too pleased discovering he had seen what he had.

"I said I'm sorry, sir... Dumbledore..."

Dumbledore scrutinized him silently for a moment. "Yes, Harry?"

This move could clear everything. It could dissolve the rift between them, give Draco closure and vengeance on Voldemort, and it could be the first step to getting his own revenge on Voldemort by thwarting his plans and even destroying him.

"Please teach me wandless magic. I want to learn."

There was silence in the room.

Some portraits snoozed and some watched. Then Phineas Nigellus Black strolled back into his portrait. "If only I could get those rabid robes to strangle that beast in the basement… Oh, what's this now?" he asked casually as he walked into the scene.

Dumbledore looked deeply into Harry's eyes and Harry looked back at him with intensity, with matured resolve, jaw clenched, hands fisted, body frozen with determination. He gave Dumbledore what he wanted. He also wanted this. He wanted Voldemort. Voldemort would not get away with hurting his love and threatening his friends. He knew he had secretly wanted this ever since Voldemort was reborn, ever since Cedric died. Draco's dilemma only hastened the maturation of his resolve. The moment had come earlier than he had anticipated but he was up to it – he had to be.

Dumbledore smiled.

"Very well, Harry."

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled at him proudly.

And a destiny of old was so fashioned new, and so the transformation began.


	27. A Date with Vengeance

**Chapter 27**

**A Date with Vengeance**

He let the sounds and images fill him, let the indulgence suffused into those red eyes pierce him, let Draco's bouncing body replay in his mind. He refused to cringe, look away or think it away. He wanted this terribly… He wanted Voldemort, come hell or high water.

The meeting with Dumbledore was scheduled for midnight, when all if not most inhabitants of the castle were asleep, on the Quidditch pitch.

He was now walking down the corridor, making his way towards Gryffindor Tower. The windows of the corridor in which he was walking on his way to Gryffindor Tower were vibrated softly, giving a low humming noise as the sunlight rippled across the glass panes. Why had he been so blind as not to see this power for the advantage it granted him? It was a show of might but it was also wasted energy.

He had been in this very corridor when he had been arguing with Draco, who had accused him of being as depraved as Voldemort. Harry had shattered the windows and torches and had plunged them into darkness. Only yesterday had he torn down every part of castle he had reached. His rage had swept along the corridors, cracked their walls and floors and blasted their windows and torches out. Seconds later he had unleashed diabolical towers of fire which had assumed the shape of serpents. He had conjured these fiery monstrosities from his mouth, from within himself, just as Voldemort had in his duel with Dumbledore. Harry had this power all along and was oblivious to the fact that it could be harnessed as a weapon against Voldemort and his forces, just as Dumbledore as wished. Why had he been so blind?

Angry with himself Harry stopped dead in his tracks and stared at a random unlit torch. When nothing happened to it he intensified his glare but the torch did not explode as he wanted it to. He tried to be angrier, to glare at it even more fiercely, his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets. But the torch remained whole, and taking this as a personal insult Harry gave the torch a dirty look before he continued down the hallway. Perhaps there was more to this wandless magic thing than attempting to glare down a torch.

His memories would be his motivation, and they would feed his motivation to see himself to midnight, a quarter of a day away.

But a question lingered in Harry's mind: why had Draco rid his mind only of the first night, when he was raped, and not Sunday night as well? Why had he not left the memory of the night when Voldemort tortured him with the Cruciatus and Tortus Curse into that bronze container as well? Did Draco think he could deal with the memory in which he was raped rather than the one in which he was tortured? Had he decided which was better to live with?

When he entered through the portrait of the Fat Lady, who had been mysteriously and extremely compliant with him, the common room suddenly fell silent. Astonished, Harry stood motionlessly at the entrance for a moment as he took in the plethora of eyes gazing back at him mutely. He spotted Ron and Hermione sitting in their usual couches, looking back at him together with the same cautious avidity with which the rest of the other Gryffindors did.

Harry could tell Hermione had been studying from the large tome in front of her on the desk and that Ron had been trimming his toenails from the wand pointed at his big toe, off which a rather large crescent toenail that not been completely cut hung. Evidently Ron had been putting _Useless Magic_ to good use.

Looking away from his friends, who were coming across as perfidious to Harry as they had not run up to him and distracted him from the common room, he swept his gaze across Parvati, Lavender, Ginny, Dean, Seamus, Neville, Collin Creevey and a legion of other students who unblinkingly eyed him as though he were a walking time bomb. His heart running a mile, Harry self-consciously made his way towards Ron and Hermione, his footsteps audible on the common room floor. Every head in the room swivelled around as the students followed his progress to the couches. Of course the instant in which Draco kissed him after he had lost his mind was still fresh in their minds. And Draco had not helped matters when he ate his breakfast at the Gryffindor table that morning.

In the complete silence Harry swiped his hands on his thighs, placed a hand to the side of his head and faced towards the fireplace, resolutely looking away from the attentive common room and hoping they could hear his insides squirming. _Why the bloody hell are they like this?_ A slew of ready explanations occurred to him. Firstly, he had partially annihilated a handful of corridors the previous night – a feat not easily missed. Secondly, on the very same night, he had breathed fire no less than four times in front of the school on the Quidditch pitch – a feat not seen every day. Thirdly, Draco Malfoy had kissed him on said pitch – something never foreseen anyone. And lastly, Draco Malfoy had attended his Charms class and sat next to him. Harry should have been surprised there was a tabloid paper already set up in their honour.

Then, Harry, with panic, wondered if there was a fifth reason he was under a microscope this afternoon. Perhaps that little private kiss he had "shared" with Draco back in Charms class had not been so "private" after all. Suddenly flushing, Harry tried to swallow a thick knot of throat and covered more of his face with his hand. Why were Ron and Hermione not engaging him in conversation already? His eye flicked over to them and glared at them in indignation. Ron merely stared back at him vacantly, his wand still pointed to his foot and his toenail still cliffhanging most unappealingly.

But Hermione promptly shook herself out of her stupor, cleared her throat – which seemed to echo in the vast quiet – and asked, "So, Harry," she began nervously, "how did your lesson go?"

Clearly she was had not thought her question through. For if she had she would have demanded he produce something tangible to show for attending the lesson. After the sound of her voice rang out in the common room the silence promptly commenced. But now that Harry had the distraction for which he had pleaded quietly with his eyes, he did not know where to begin. The question momentarily took him back to Dumbledore's office and the wonderful magic Dumbledore had performed, to Professor Strolm's repulsive attitude, the memory in the Pensieve and his decision to go ahead with his training. He realized he could not talk about just about everything that he had gone through in the last couple of hours.

"It was okay," he answered noncommittally.

Hermione gave him a contrived smile and tried to nod for as long as she plausibly could. Then she looked down into her lap, clearly out of words. Ron was still studying him intensely as though he had grown a third ear on his forehead or as though he would leap to his feet and run off to the Slytherin dungeons again.

There was more silence.

There came shuffling noises but Harry was not interested in seeing what was happening beyond his field of vision comprising the fireplace, the scarlet couches on his left and Ron and Hermione on his right. But he found anyway when a few seconds later a tentatively smiling Parvati took a seat in one of the couches.

"Hi, Harry, Hermione… Ron," Parvati said, her voicing tightening when she spoke the last name. Undoubtedly she had not forgotten her last encounter with him involving a supposed love letter.

Harry did not hear his friends greeting back and could not tell whether they had done so silently as he was blocking his vision of the rest of the common room with his hand. He returned Parvati's greeting while trying to make courteous eye contact with her as surreptitiously as he could. However, this brief glance told him that the common room was just as quietly engrossed with him as it had been when he had entered it.

Parvati cleared her throat and made another awkward attempt to strike up a conversation. A second person took up a seat among them. Harry pulled his hand away and saw Dean and Seamus settling next to Ron, Hermione and Parvati. Harry's insides made a flip-flop when his eyes fell upon their secretively clasped hands. Harry gaped in awe.

It was… it was…unfair… Seeing Dean and Seamus holding hands like that, literally, physically holding hands was… Harry thought he was with Draco, together with Draco. He was, right? He could kiss him any time he wanted to, right? And hold his hand any time he wanted to as well, right? But… holding hands seemed like a totally new arena, a totally different thing altogether, a brand new possibility…

Him and Draco holding hands… Harry tried to visualize this amidst a thick, green mist of jealously. Holding Draco's hand like that, so casually, so effortlessly, unconsciously… It was improbable, utterly improbable. Draco would not want to hold hands – Harry had a feeling the Slytherin was more hands-on than that, rougher than that, more impulsive and adventurous than that.

But… Harry realized, as he stared haplessly at the dark-skinned and pale hands entwined together, partly hidden under black school robes, that this was what he also wanted. He wanted this casual intimacy, this non-overt show of affection. It did not always have to come down to sexy baths or kissing or touching. That was all great, fantastic, but perhaps there was room to have this sort of moments, these simple, undemanding moments that spoke so much and were equally if not more special.

Could they do this? Just hold hands as Dean and Seamus were doing, in a world where it was taboo? In a school that had known Harry and Draco to be bitter archenemies? In a world where this was unprecedented? Harry unabashedly and almost maniacally looked between Dean's and Seamus' hands and their carefree, smiling faces with accusation and deep envy.

"Hey, Harry," said Seamus once they had made sure their hands were sufficiently hidden from the rest of the room.

Harry snapped out of his reverie and for a split second looked at the two boys with the natural fondness he had always held for his Housemates. "Hey, Seamus. Hi, Dean."

Another silence ensued as the common room continued to stare at six of their Housemates with unnatural avidity. Seamus saved them. "So," he said loudly, "what has the ever-popular Harry Potter been up to lately?"

The question had been a ringing announcement. Consequently where Seamus had aimed to effect a forced nonchalance about their interaction he had succeeded only in turning the spotlight ever more squarely on Harry. So much for Parvati's efforts.

"Nothing really," Harry answered with a small, nervous laugh.

Seamus had clearly expected more from him than two words, for he continued to stare at him helplessly. "Okay," Seamus mouthed, rolling his eyes and looking down at his hands.

"So what did Dumbledore want this time?" Ron finally asked.

Harry turned to him, relief washing over him. "Er, he just wanted Professor Strolm to teach me some stuff."

Hermione promptly reanimated at this. She shifted forward in her seat. "Yes, Harry," she said, clearing her throat and blushing, "what did he teach you exactly?"

"Er…" _Shite. He didn't teach me anything, Hermione, because I spent the rest of the lesson in Draco's room._ Harry's cheeks turned pink. Then, in a lifesaving instant, the little bit of Magical Philosophy Professor Strolm had taught him came back to him. "Yes, er, he taught me the four recognized but _forevermore unofficial_ definitions of Magic," he answered, emphasizing his words importantly.

Hermione was positively absorbing his every word, her body rendered motionless once more. A quick scan of the room revealed that the Gryffindors were far from losing interest in him, whether he spoke of boring academics or not. He ploughed onward about Magical Philosophy. "They're called MU-1, MU-2, MU-3 and MU-4." Hermione nodded vigorously at each term, making her wild mane vibrate. Harry took another furtive look at the common room and saw that the ring of academia was having a positive effect on the crowd, and so he continued speaking it with Hermione. Did they really expect him to share every single detail about his relationship with Draco?

"MU stands for-"

"Magickus Universum, yes, yes," Hermione rapped, her eyes wide.

Harry nodded, his lips twitching. "Anyway, Professor Strolm told me that Dumbledore was the one who made the third definition, MU-3, and that this, er, Gamp witch, I think it was, that she-"

"Proposed the second definition of magic, MU-2," Hermione finished, caught between awe at and pride for at Harry. "Hester Gamp's her name. I didn't know Dumbledore proposed the third one – I've only read the second edition of _Fundamental Magic!_ What else did he tell you?" Hermione demanded excitedly, her eyes agleam. It was precisely this enthusiasm more than anything that seemed to turn the whole common room off. Numerous students started turning their backs on them and resumed their schoolwork or their chatter with friends. Dean and Seamus appeared extremely relieved at this point. Beside them, Ron remained looking somewhat dazed, Parvati distinctly out of place and Hermione still delirious with Harry as though he was the most beautiful sight on which she had ever laid eyes.

"So," Harry was lecturing her, "he says many experts didn't want MU-3 because, er, they didn't want it because, er, it had a lot of merits, is what I think he said, but it was too good to ignore it."

All excitement left Hermione's face as a frown slipped onto it – and with good reason, thought Harry, who could not remember exactly what Strolm had said about the controversy around Dumbledore's definition.

"They rejected his definition because it had a lot of merits, but it was too good to ignore it?" Hermione asked perplexedly.

That sounded vaguely contradictory to Harry. "Something like that," he replied evasively, waving away the point of confusion with his hand as he felt he had been doing so well up until that point.

It quickly became apparent that Hermione would not relent. "You do realize you're not making any sense, right?"

Harry mentally cursed both himself and Hermione.

"Mate," interrupted Ron before Hermione could utter anything further, to which Harry was immensely grateful, "so all you did was learn about magic and Dumbledore the whole time you were gone? You didn't do or go anywhere else?"

"Yes," Harry answered quickly, trying to kill the fire in his cheeks before they reddened noticeably. He had no doubt that Ron was fishing around to find out if he had been with Draco.

New suspicion lingered in Hermione's eyes before she turned to chastise Ron. "Ron, don't interrupt him! He's telling us about his lesson with _Professor Strolm!_" Harry scowled at her but quickly schooled his face appropriately when she turned back to him. He raised both eyebrows.

"Yes, where was I?" He was stalling – he had not gone far with Professor Strolm. The only thing Strolm had said after the part on the definitions of magic was Dumbledore being a great man, and Harry did not think Hermione would appreciate such a frivolous opinion.

Hermione, insufferable as she was, was quick to answer him. "You were about to correct yourself," she said tartly, growing irritated. "You said the other experts refused to accept Dumbledore's definition-" Parvati cleared her throat rather loudly. Interrupted for the second time, Hermione looked fit to explode.

"Yes that's all well and good, Hermione. What I want to know, though…" Parvati pushed her couch forward closer to Harry. Seamus and Ron sharpened at this point and watched Harry closely. "…Harry, you can't honestly deprive me of the juicy details about last night! What bloody happened? You and Malfoy on that pitch-?" Hermione paid Parvati her just desserts when she cleared her throat even louder. Seamus scowled openly at Hermione.

"Harry, Professor Strolm's lesson," Hermione prodded tersely. She looked stonily expectant and edgy now, leaving Harry no room to manoeuvre of out her demand that he talk about his tutor. If he wished to retain all of his body parts he needed to oblige her. Even Ron seemed to stifle a question he had been ready to shoot at him in light of Hermione's thinning control. Parvati, however, was unperturbed.

"Is it official?" the Indian Gryffindor asked. "Are the two of you, you know…?"

The common room had already returned to normal – students were doing their homework and talking amongst themselves. The wave of curiosity had come and gone, although Lavender Brown, Parvati's best friend, was hovering in the corner of the room staring at the six of them intently from afar, mouth agape, clearly relying on Parvati to get the big scoop and come back with some juicy titbits from Harry.

Harry did not know at whom to look. They all demanded something from him. His mind spun with the questions coming at him thick and fast as all of them looked at him to sate their own curiosities. He could not answer Hermione any further because he _did not know_ any more about Magical Philosophy. He most certainly did not want to answer Parvati because her question was embarrassing and would ruffle Ron's feathers. But he _did_ want to give Seamus the validation the Irishman seemed to be looking for in him, judging by how interested he seemed in his relationship with Draco, though a small part of Harry was passionately against this because he was still profoundly shaken by the sight of his and Dean's clasped hands. It had utterly blindsided him.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled. There was no way around it. They were going to find out eventually – these things had ways of coming out into the open. Regardless, he had promised Ron and Hermione he would be honest with them – he owed them at least that much. Hermione had accused him of being closed off and not being himself from the top of the year and that he did not cherish their friendship, which was categorically untrue. He thus resolved to be open and upfront with them. Why was he scared? They were not going to shun him just because he was in love with Draco… Would they? No they would not, Harry convinced himself. Green eyes emerged once again as he opened his eyes, fixing them on the popular, blue-eyed gossipmonger. "Parvati."

Parvati sharpened, quivering with excitement in her seat as to what he would reveal to her. Harry prepared himself and winced.

"I really need to talk to Ron and Hermione alone," he said, as he eyes fixed on Dean's and Seamus' clasped hands, which tightened before parting ways just as Seamus stood up.

"Well no biggie, mate," Seamus said, trying to hide his disappointment. "We'll hear about the adventures of Boy Wonder at another time. Dean, come on, I want to show you something upstairs."

Immediately following those words was the sharp sound of something falling sharply or being flung rather down at a table. The six of them turned around to see Ginny folding her arms petulantly, her long red hair in furious flight, and a major scowl upon her face. A quill lay on the floor beside her chair.

Seamus turned a faint pink as he and Dean hurried up the stairs. "It's my grandfather's knobkerrie," he feebly declared a little louder than was necessary, probably to ensure that Ginny heard him as well. But it was too little, too late as she seemed to be positively vibrating waves of fury.

An amused smile was just about to break on Harry's lips but it died a swift and cold death when Harry turned his eyes on the figure of an irate Parvati, who did not seem happy with the dismissal.

"Oh!" she trilled with false cheer, her blue eyes ablaze. "So I help you start your little Defence club thing, which would have been _non-existent_ if it hadn't been for me. And now you can't even give me a few details about what's going on between you and the Slytherin Sex Prince?"

Harry could only gape, utterly taken aback. His eyes bounced between Ron and Hermione beseechingly, but Hermione looked back at him helplessly – Parvati did make an excellent point. Ron was blinking rapidly and had grown beetroot in the face, reeling from her candid reference to Harry and Draco as an item and no doubt Draco's unofficial title of the Sex Prince. But Parvati's explicit reference to his relationship with Draco both astonished and delighted Harry, for he had not heard it spoken of and recognized externally like this, as though it was an obvious, accepted, extant fact.

"Er…" Harry stuttered.

"You know what, I'm not going to beg you!" Parvati flew out of her seat. "Don't ever ask me for anything again, do you hear me, Harry Potter?" Without waiting for an answer, and with her nose held high in the air, she stomped off towards her friend with patented exaggerated dignity. Harry still struggled to understand it, as he did not think there was any dignity in constantly delving your nose into other people's affairs as Parvati and her partner in crime Lavender so loved doing. He merely gaped in the wake of Parvati's dramatic exit, which seemed just a touch exaggerated, even for her…

"Harry, what did you want to talk about?" Hermione whispered, leaning closer to him. Ron, though much more apprehensively, did the same.

Harry shook his head to clear his mind and looked at his friends. Then he was without words. His mouth worked but nothing came out. Ron and Hermione looked back at him with patient expectation.

Harry swallowed, grimaced and finally confessed, "I spent the hour that I was supposed to be learning Magic Philosophy with Professor Strolm in Draco's room."

Ron's worst fears were confirmed. Hermione, conversely, looked empty of all emotion.

"Blimey, Harry!" Ron exclaimed. "I knew it the moment you walked in – there was just something different about you…!"

"He smelled different – fresh – like he just had a bath," Hermione observed quietly, her face still quite expressionless.

Ron looked away. His expression of blank concentration was the same face one had when nausea threatened and one was making every effort to convince oneself one felt normal again in order to dispel the unpleasant feeling. "Yeah, you smelled like a bubble bath," he said quietly. "But you said you were with Malfoy, so how ca-" His face rapidly cleared of all complexion before it turned an unprecedented, deepest shade of purple not unlike that which Uncle Vernon's neck assumed whenever he was particularly beside himself.

"Figured it out, have you?" Hermione deadpanned derisively.

Ron's head blurred as it whipped between Harry and Hermione. A pleading grimace stole over his face as he looked at Harry. "Mate, come on, tell her that's not what… Tell her that's complete bollocks…Tell her, Harry! You just took a bath in the prefects' bathroom, yeah? Yes!" he suddenly exclaimed loudly, victoriously, exhilarated by the loophole he had found. "You see, while you were in his room you asked Malfoy for the password to the _prefects'_ bathroom! Then you went down there and took a bath all by _yourself_!"

"Oh, grow up, Ronald! The obvious truth is that Harry took a bath with Malfoy!"

Ron choked.

There was a suspicious sound from the corner that usually accommodated Parvati and Lavender.

Harry studied his lap intensely as his face blazed with heat. After a few moments later he heard Hermione's tightly modulated voice.

"So what did you do, Harry? Did you stick around with Professor Strolm for a few moments into his lesson, then told him you had to be somewhere else? And where was Professor Dumbledore?"

"Dumbledore wasn't there," Harry replied promptly, jumping at the opportunity to vindicate himself. "Professor Strolm was the one who told me about Draco being with us for the lesson. He said that Dumbledore told him that both me and Draco were going to attend his lessons. Then he gave me permission to go and fetch him."

Hermione nonetheless did not lose her cantankerous look. "And you never went back," she finished dryly.

Ron looked on at Harry for an answer, trepidation written all over his purple face. Harry neither answered nor nodded. Ron looked crestfallen and hung his head, the purple in his face fading to just a livid red. Discomfited as he was, Crookshanks did not do himself any favours by appearing within the range of his leg. Ron's shoe neatly scooped up the enormous ginger cat into the air and deposited him somewhere near a first-year, they soon found out, when a shrill scream broke the relative quiet along with Hermione's loud remonstrations at Ron.

When calm was finally restored a few minutes later, when Ron looked mutinous on top of reeling from Harry's confession, Hermione, making a pointed effort to ignore Ron – at whom Crookshanks was interminably hissing – gave a soft sigh at Harry of almost-sympathy and certain disappointment. But then she suddenly shrieked (Crookshanks decided there was too much drama for her to handle and leapt out of Hermione's lap, whipping away in a flash of ginger), pointing down at two pieces of flesh-coloured objects lying on the floor between the couches. After both Harry and Ron jumped in their seats at her scream the three of them followed the lengths of the apparatuses to their origins.

Upon their discovery Parvati and Lavender gave sheepish titters but remained huddled, pushing the other ends of their Extendable Ears into the sides of their heads as though they would soon be forgotten and awesome conversations about bubble baths with Draco would commence.

Harry's jaw dropped.

Before either Parvati or Lavender or Ron and Harry could do anything Hermione leapt out of her seat, raised her strongest foot two feet in the air and drove her heel down onto the two earpieces of the Extendable Ears. Harry heard their shrieks of pain from across the common room almost before he registered their wild movements. The two eavesdroppers flung the listening ends of the Ears away from their heads and nursed their real ears, which were probably ringing to no end, experience told.

The rest of the common room returned to their millings about in heaps of laughter at the expense of the intrusive duo, who were throwing admonishments at each other and continuing to soothe their abused ears. They did not fail to shoot deadly glares at Hermione, however, who returned to her seat with curt satisfaction written all over her face. She waited for the rest of the Gryffindors to be fully immersed back in whatever they had been doing previously before she turned eyes bearing silent murder upon Harry.

"So, Harry, are you telling me that I begged Angelina Johnson to postpone Quidditch practice today just for you to run a bath and have a dip in with Malfoy?"

As though on cue Angelina Johnson made her way towards them. Harry looked on at her approaching tall, dark-skinned figure with dismay.

"Hi, guys. What was that all about?" Her thumb pointed to the two gossipmongers who seemed to have forgiven each other, as they were now talking quickly with each other, and the hand gestures and overt, gleeful expressions – all strong signs of gossiping – were aplenty. Their ears were evidently healed and they were reviewing what they just overhead with their Extendable Ears, the listening ends of which were now lay abandoned on the table top amidst their books and stationery.

Ron and Harry blushed but Hermione flipped her hair defiantly. "I was just correcting Parvati and Lavender on their manners. Eavesdropping isn't very kind, you know."

Angelina looked down at Hermione with wary amusement before she turned to Harry, and any amusement she felt shortly evaporated. "Harry, I want to talk to you about the Quidditch practice. We can't afford to skip anymore! We didn't practice yesterday and on Monday, and Hermione today asked me to postpone today's practice because you were having a meeting with some VIP I forgot his name."

"His name is Professor Strolm."

"Yeah that sounds about right," said Angelina, whose irreverent only riled Hermione up. "Strolm – sounds like a company that makes bandages, or light bulbs."

Hermione looked so shocked Angelina may as well have insulted the Queen of England.

Ron and Harry coughed and thumped their chests, looking away to hide their smirks.

"Anyway," continued Angelina breezily, "as I said, we can't keep putting practice off – we're playing Ravenclaw in two weeks!"

"Oh don't worry about that," Hermione tittered in a tone she adopted whenever she wished to hurt. "Harry here isn't feeling too exhausted, mentally or otherwise, considering that taking a bath is _so_ refreshing. So you can have your Quidditch practice after all. It's not too late, is it?"

"Oh no, not at all!" trilled Angelina, looking relieved and delighted, her dark braids swaying excitedly. "So, Harry, are you ready?"

Harry gaped wordlessly at a vindictive Hermione. After flying around with Ron on old, obsolete school brooms, mentally exerting himself for no less than fifteen minutes with Strolm, running all the way from Dumbledore's office to Draco's room and back and then wading through Draco's memory he was easily bone-tired. And for rest to be so mercilessly snatched away from him after he relished in its coming for so short a time was simply inhumane. But having seen what Hermione had done to Parvati's and Lavender's ears, Harry made a mental note, engraving it into his mind, never to make Hermione his enemy again.

"Er, yeah, sure," he replied dazedly to Angelina as he struggled to stand up from his seat, his exhaustion suddenly much more apparent.

"Great! I'll have to quickly nip to McGonagall's office and cancel our cancellation so that the pitch isn't taken when we get there – who knows, the Ravenclaw Quidditch team might be busy as we speak!" With that, Angelina sped off and stopped by her table before rushing out of the Gryffindor common room through the portrait hole.

Ron, after finally severing the nail that had been hanging on his big toe and slipping on his sock, followed Harry up the stairs into the dormitory. As they left their seats they heard Hermione muttering, "_Incendio_," and when they came onto the landing they heard a few more shrieks coming from Parvati and Lavender's corner and saw a couple of smoking workbooks.

Harry was still reeling from Hermione's scorn when he opened the dorm room and saw Dean and Seamus laughing with each other, the both of them seeming carefree and completely into one another, making jealousy flare inside Harry. His thoughts of Hermione and her vindictiveness, replaced by sharp envy, Harry continued towards his trunk. Dean's and Seamus' laughter stopped abruptly behind him, an event in which he found extreme satisfaction.

"Oh hey, guys," said Dean loftily as though all was wonderful in the merry world.

Harry struggled to quell his dark feelings. Has he and Draco laughed with each other before? There was that one time yesterday in Draco's room before Harry made his major confession, but that laugh was accidental – it was not designed by either of them. Therefore, honestly, he and Draco have not really laughed together – they have not been together for long. But then when did Dean and Seamus get together and find the time to laugh with each other and hold hands? This was not fair! Harry found himself taking books out of his trunk instead of his Quidditch gear. He cursed himself, replaced _Standard Book of Spells _and _Useless Magic_ back into his trunk, closed it and pulled out his broom.

He donned just the essential Quidditch gear for practice. Looking up from the string collar of his Quidditch robe he was fastening, he was once more an inadvertent audience to Dean's and Seamus' carefree banter: Dean looked scandalized as he regarded something Seamus was pointing at in the _Witch Weekly_ magazine. Seamus wore a wide, teasing grin on his face. They were so great together. Harry's jaw worked as he unglued his eyes from the scene and rather stuck them on Ron, who was just finishing putting on his own gear.

Dean looked up from the magazine. "What, are we having practice? Angie said it was cancelled 'cause Harry had an important lesson with some expert Dumbledore called in."

"Well I guess the captain changed her mind – we're practicing," Harry said tersely, and he relished how Dean's face crumbled as he looked at Seamus, who was not on the Quidditch team. Harry and Ron exited the dormitory, trudged over to the portrait hole without sparing at glance in Hermione's direction and made for the Quidditch pitch. He had no idea how he was going to practicing feeling so tired. Perhaps while he hovered aimlessly in the air a Bludger may decide to take him out, mercifully shipping him off to the infirmary, though one could hardly describe the initial impact as merciful.

As he silently marched down the corridor with Ron and the rest of the Quidditch team trailed behind them, Harry wondered whether Draco was still on the Slytherin Quidditch team. His safety was a concern in the presence of the other Slytherins. Harry would have to find out from Dumbledore at midnight. Or perhaps he could ask Draco directly some time before then… A familiar, exciting and also frightening thud in his chest after his heart threw itself against his chest in joy. This wonderful feeling was so adept at obscuring all good judgement and severely impairing his decision-making capacity that he could do nothing about it.

_Bloody hell, no, no!_ This was getting truly and laughably compulsive. _No, Harry. Harry! You are not going to do this! Have you no pride, for Merlin's sake? Two times in a day, just like yesterday?_ What would Draco think of him? That he was obsessed? But just like that Harry knew he had lost the battle before it had even begun. Now all there was left to do was attempt to consider the pride-wounding eventuality with indignation and denial – again. This was the same process he had gone through only the previous night when he wanted to know more about Draco's feelings towards him. Reasoning against this urge was entirely pointless.

He could fight and reason that his friends were angry with him, but this defence was feeble and paled in comparison with what he had to defend himself against the previous night, which was the fact that his friends were hospitalized, injured by his own furious actions, and he had still found the selfishness, gall and lack of conscience within himself to venture into the dungeons. Anger or physical hurt? Which was worse? Harry could easily fight his conscience in this round. He was going to Draco's room tonight, be it to ask Draco pointless questions about Quidditch or merely spend even just a few minutes – hopefully hours – with him.

"You all right there, Harry?" Ron asked, worried by the goofy smile on Harry's face.

"What? Oh yeah, I'm fine," Harry answered before he looked down at the ground again thoughtfully.

Just as they approached the field they heard Angelina yelling from behind, "Guys, it's too late – the pitch's already been booked! Back to the common room!" They raised their gaze upwards at the sight of a Slytherin Quidditch practice session in full effect.

Dusk had fallen, which made it almost impossible to make out the figures of the zooming Slytherins above. If Draco was up there, Harry could not spot him.

"Bloody Slytherins," Ron growled. "Opportunists, they are. I mean how long ago was it that Angelina booked the bloody pitch?"

"That's Slytherin for you," Harry remarked wryly. Slytherin Quidditch practice seemed even much more violent than official matches, he observed, as figures flew about furiously and crashed into each other. Harry and Ron turned their backs on the Slytherins and made their way out the stadium.


	28. Corruption

**Chapter 28**

**Corruption**

Harry and Ron strolled out the stadium back to the common room. Facing them were the backs of the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team which had been prepared to practice before Angelina Johnson made the announcement that the pitch was booked. The captain was under the impression the Ravenclaws had been swift and cunning in booking the Quidditch pitch in the time slot initially allocated for her team, where it was the Slytherin team practicing as Harry and Ron had seen.

Walking in silence, Ron furtively studied Harry, his head hung and his face looking thoughtful. Every now and then Ron caught flashes of toothy, idiotic grins and radiant smiles he had seen on his friend before, not even when Harry had been excited to ask Cho Chang to be his date for the Yule Ball the previous year.

Deep in thought, Harry could not hear the soft shuffling of feet and the rustling of robes behind them, and Ron, so absorbed in his attempts to understand Harry, was oblivious to the evil smirks and glinting gazes.

He gave a longsuffering sigh. "Mate, Harry."

Harry looked up from the ground to his friend. Thinking he saw a flash of robes with the corner of his eye, he turned to look behind them but only the mouth of the Quidditch pitch gazed back at him, above which, he knew, the Slytherin Quidditch team flew high.

Ron swallowed nervously at the sudden attention he had brought onto himself. "Look, I—I—You know I don't like this thing or fling you got going on with Malfoy… But I—I want you to know that… I see how… he—how you're happy, how it makes you happy, You've never smiled like that before, ever, even when, you know… You've just never been so happy before, and I want you to be happy like that because, you know…" Ron turned even redder, surpassing the scarlet of Harry's blush by far. "…I love you too. I love you too, Harry. I want what you want for yourself."

He gave Harry a hard, macho pat on the back undoubtedly to inject some masculine relief in this soft and sensitive issue. But Harry enveloped him in a full-contact hug. Perhaps since it was the second time Ron found himself in a hug and a tender moment with his friend he was more able to handle it. He delivered a few more hearty pats to Harry's back.

Harry pulled out and looked squarely up at his friend. "Thank you, Ron. It means a lot to me."

The flush returned to Ron's face. Was it because Harry was turning "fairy" that he was now growing a knack for hugging people unawares? Unsettled, and looking down at his friend, their bodies still in contact Ron replied shakily, "No, problem, mate. Just promise me we won't be having too many more of these moments to come."

"I can do that," Harry said quickly as he extracted himself from his friend and cleared his throat. He rearranged his Firebolt on his shoulder and tried other things to seem busy and nonchalant as they continued down the corridor.

"Harry," Ron said, as his arms swung self-consciously.

"Yeah?"

Ron hesitated. "So you were with Draco, in his room, which you know where it is, obliviously, when you were supposed to be with this Professor Strolm character…"

"Yeah," answered Harry guiltily after a pause. He knew he had some grovelling to do to his other friend.

"And you took a… bath…" Ron went on. Bath was not a dirty word but the way Ron said it made it sound like one. "…with him when you were with him. Why?" he asked as politely as he could. "Couldn't you have, hem hem, taken that bath when you came back from his room?"

"It was Draco," said Harry, who decided to answer truthfully. "I guess he seduced me." But he had spoken before he had thought through his words more thoroughly. Crimson in the face in mortification, Harry could have sworn he heard Ron mewl like a dying cat.

Struggling to recover himself, Ron squeaked, "Right, right, that. I guess Slytherins can be so, what you said. They're pretty sneaky after all." Harry nodded vigorously. "So!" Ron declared loudly, as he swung his arms wildly again. "After all that, you came straight to the common room. You didn't go back to the office like Hermione said…"

"I did go back, to check, well, if there was any chance—Well, I don't know. I wanted to learn about Magical Philosophy when I came back if it meant it would make me stronger… when, um, I don't know if I can say this-"

"Don't feel pressured to tell me anything you don't want to at all!" Ron said in a high voice, looking thoroughly alarmed. He suspected Harry was going to make a leap from talking about his lesson to explicit scenes involving him, Malfoy and a bathtub.

Harry deliberated with himself about telling Ron about the unspoken, untouched secret of Draco's ordeal. Was it safe to tell Ron even part of it? Perhaps he could safely do so in vague terms – it would not constitute lying, which he had promised he would no longer do to his friends. Perhaps he should simply keep his mouth shut altogether. But Ron deserved some kind of answer.

"When I was in Draco's room, something happened that made me remember what Voldemort did to him. I mean, of course I never forgot what he did to him-"

"What is this thing that You-Know-Who did to Malfoy? You've been on it since bloody Saturday with your dreams. What, torture him? That's hardly something new or to have nightmares about."

They turned a corner, watching the Gryffindor team ahead of them, their figures in the distance bulked up by their practice gear.

"No," Harry said in frustration, He shifted his Firebolt on his shoulder. How close could he be to describing Draco's predicament without betraying him? "He did something more than torture him, something very bad."

"What else could You-Know-Who do to Malfoy that's bad apart from killing the sorry git?" Ron asked, carefully adding, "Not that getting rid of him it wouldn't be his first good deed for Wizardkind."

Ignoring the derision knowing that it was Ron's way of seeing if dissing Draco was still fair game even if Harry was in love with him, Harry sighed and thought rapidly.

"Well, let's just say Voldemort-" He ignored Ron's flinch. "-is very creative with his torturing."

A low gasp, inaudible to Harry and Ron, was shortly muffled behind them.

"I'm sure he is," Ron agreed heartily. "He's a Dark lord after all."

Something about what Ron said irritated Harry. It was not something new. It had been growing slowly over the years. But in the past few days it seemed to have gained weight, had become more apparent or had grown stronger.

"Yeah, whatever," Harry said, making sure to look directly into Ron's eyes. "So because he did this horrible thing to Draco, and Draco has been struggling to cope with it ever since, I think I want to hunt him down more than I ever did. This thing, what he did to Draco, I can't even… He has to pay, Voldemort-" Ron flinched again. Ron flinched. "-has to pay for all he's done…"

It might be the flinching that was starting to irk him. He thought he was growing tired of ignoring it.

"Wow," breathed Ron. "So you really want him that much?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I want him. I want Voldemort."

Another flinch. It was growing increasingly unbearable. It was becoming harder to stand seeing people react to a mere name. Such was their fear of Voldemort. Why should they grant that abomination of a being, that rapist, so much respect?

Ron shrugged. "You know Hermione and I will be with you all the way, as long as it's you who deals with the big bad snake himself," he chuckled.

Harry did not humour the joke. "Say his name."

"Come again?"

"Say his name, Ron," Harry demanded.

Ron stared at him.

There came a metallic clinking sound from behind them, whereupon they quickly looked back. Nothing stirred for a few moments but then two crows flew out from behind a suit of armour. Harry face Ron again, who appeared just as incredulous as before.

"Say his name?" Ron asked in befuddlement.

"Yes. You can say it, can't you?"

"But, Harry…" Ron seemed rather taken aback by this outlandish order. Harry had never minded him calling Voldemort You-Know-Who before.

Harry eyed him unblinkingly. There should come a time when rapists and murderers were not granted such high reverence.

"Why do you w-?" began Ron, but Harry's fury exploded and he cut across him.

"Because I'm sick of everyone freaking out every time they hear it! If you'd seen what he did to Draco you wouldn't be calling him a lord! He's sick and twisted-"

Clinking noises reached their ears, shortly muffled by twitters and flapping feathers as not just a pair but a flock of crows erupted from another gargoyle.

"Where are these bloody birds coming from?" asked Ron.

"Don't change the subject, Ron! I want you to say his name!"

"But you haven't had a problem with me or Hermione-"

"And I should've! It just took me—It's different now! You can't keep-"

"Oh it's different because of _Draco_, is it?"

"Yes, because of Draco!" Harry shouted, infuriated even more by Ron's chronic and mocking emphasis on Draco's name

"Harry, you'll never understand why we do it, okay?" Ron screamed back. "You just don't say You-Know-Who's name. Even Malfoy will probably tell you that!"

Stunned into silence, Harry recalled Draco's words: _We here in the Wizarding world do some things and don't do others, and saying the Dark Lord's name is one of those. It's that simple. It's considerate towards other people and it's respectful._

"Harry, you've never heard of the things they say he did, the things he was capable of!" Ron went on. "No one had seen them, had ever thought it was possible! People who'd gone through the War, the first War. People are scared shitless of him, all right? It's that simple! Just… just show You-Know-Who some respect, will you?"

"_Respect?_" Harry screeched.

"I mean… Not like that but… He's the Dark Lord-!"

"He's Voldemort! He's Tom Riddle! Tom Marvolo Riddle! A half-blood maniac-"

There was spluttering. Harry's and Ron's head whipped around for the third time, but this time Harry was quite certain they were not alone in the corridor. His hand reached for his waist against which his wand rested but his attention was attracted by the mutters coming from the portraits above them gazing down at them, disbelieve and outrage etched on their occupants' painted faces.

"See? You're even shocking the portraits," said Ron a little uneasily.

"Then everybody's just sick then if they think they can fear Voldemort-" Harry cut off at yet another flinch from Ron, his green eyes blazing, furious beyond words.

At first Ron seemed apologetic but all contrition left his face as he stood taller on his feet. "Look, Harry, you can't get angry at me on this. I've been here, in this world, all my life, and this is just how things are. People are afraid of him and they have a right to be – You-Know-Who nearly wiped out a fifth of Britain when he was in power. Harry, they said he had giants, werewolves, banshees, incubi, Inferi, any Dark creature you can think of!

"You haven't been here long enough to know these things and I understand that, Harry, so I can't really blame you for this. But… you can't demand something like that from me! He scares me, okay? There, I said it! And he scares a lot more other people too! Why do you think Hermione does it even though she's Muggle-born? Because she has researched He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the things he did before he died."

Harry stood rigidly, breathing slightly heavily, his arguments castrated. He had to admit Ron was right about what he said. But it was surely not right to allow an evil megalomaniac to labour under the delusion that he deserved their respect even if it was borne out of fear. Voldemort did not deserve any level of respect. He turned to continue down the corridor, Ron following him.

They remained in silence for a while before Ron said a little jokingly, "I didn't say I won't be able to someday."

It took Harry a few more corners to work off enough anger to see reason and wish for that peace their truce achieved earlier. "Sorry, I guess I was just asking too much. I just… He frustrates me…"

He tried to quell his frustration by reminding himself of his meeting with Dumbledore tonight, actively working towards feeling anticipatory and excited. He could not wait to master wandless magic and finally have in his repertoire a tangible, useful weapon against Tom Riddle – not Voldemort, the Dark Lord, You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or any other moniker given to him by those who feared him almost for flattery.

"I understand, mate," Ron said. "We'll get him, Harry, someday, somehow."

Harry nodded and spared Ron a smile, which Ron returned.

They were just a few metres from the stairs that would lead them to the portrait of the Fat Lady. They were utterly unaware that the corners, shadows and alcoves played host to a few Slytherins that had taken an early break from Quidditch practice. They hung low and crept towards their target, prowling quietly and timing their strike.

Slippery, slithery, stalking Slytherins, hugging the corners and melding with the shadows.

Fishy, foul-mouthed, forceful Fauss, slinking in the darkness, ducking under windows.

Callous, crude, cautious Carrow, courting the portraits so they stayed silent.

Broody, bored, blasé Blaise, ghosting over gargoyles, lest they be violent.

Mindless, malicious, maladroit Massice, his spineless senses simply malevolent.

Wordless, warped, whimsical Warrington, golden eyes gazing, watching their prey.

When the pair approached the safe walls of Gryffindor Tower common room the Slytherins nearly nearly drew out of their shadows, desperate and anxious. But they stopped when their target stopped and faced his friend.

A pulsing excitement returned to Harry. There was something he had been meaning to do after Quidditch practice before it was cancelled: he wanted to see Draco.

It was time to reason again in futile indignation.

1. He and Ron had just made amends.

2. He had angered Hermione and turned her into a nasty and vindictive witch by his irresponsible, impulsive actions to be with Draco.

3. It would be the second time he visited Draco today, reflecting badly on his pride.

4. It was a school night and he had only between now and midnight to do it.

5. He was immensely tired. He had slept late after spending time with Draco in his room the previous night. Before that Draco had to be relocated because of what took place on the Quidditch pitch after his searing rampage which had followed an enduring DA meeting.

There were more than enough reasons NOT to go to Draco's room. _Harry, you're not going to Draco's room! No, you're not! …I just wanna hold his hand… I wanna laugh with him – properly… I wanna to hold him, even just for a little while… I'll be back, quickly, in a few minutes. I'll just tell him about my meeting with Dumbledore, kiss him, then come back… Oh and I wanna to ask him if he's still on the Quidditch team._

If Draco did not answer when he knocked then he would know he had left Draco at the Quidditch stadium, where the Slytherin team was currently practicing. But Harry heavily doubted it. He almost fully expected the door with the mermaid portrait to swing open and reveal Draco standing in it with a blasé, bored look, arms crossed, wearing flattering clothes, and barefoot on the floor, leaving Harry to devour the sight of his thin, petite snow-white feet.

"Ron," Harry said as he stopped walking.

"Yeah?"

"I'm not going to lie to you. I want to see Draco, now, just for a short while. I just want to ask him something and tell him about my meeting with Dumbledore tonight." And in an instance of sheer disbelief he suddenly realized, confirmed by Ron's expression of confusion as well, that he had not told his friends about his meeting and would have only done so after he told Draco. There was something profoundly wrong about that…

"A meeting with Dumbledore?" Ron said. "Again? You had a meeting with Strolm, now you're doing it with Dumbledore?"

But he had not had an opportunity to tell them before. He had been no less than bombarded with questions upon his arrival in the common room half an hour ago. His dissipating self-disgust gave room for his burgeoning excitement to burgeon. He was excited to tell Draco about the meeting and that he was going to work towards something that would ultimately help avenge Draco's horrendous.

"Yeah, for midnight," Harry replied.

"Midnight? Blimey, this is bloody serious, this war thing is…" Ron looked Harry up and down with astonishment in his eyes.

Harry nodded impatiently, his heart thudding excitedly. "Yeah, very serious. So please apologize to Hermione for me. I'll talk to her when I get back." With that lack of tact Harry sped off away from Ron, whom he knew had his own grovelling to do to Hermione for kicking Crookshanks across the common room.

After leaping over the last step Harry landed on the fifth floor and panted as he crossed the corridor. He came to face a blank stretch of wall and said Draco's name at it.

"Jackpot," hissed Massice from a nearby alcove, his companions hidden in passages and gargoyles.

The wall obediently shimmered away and just as Harry set foot in the dingy corridor it revealed he saw rapid movements before he was suddenly seized.

"Hello, Potter," whispered Fauss. He slipped his hand away from Harry's mouth, pushed his wand into his temple and said, "_Silencio_. Too late booking the pitch? I see you're all dressed up."

Carrow searched Harry and removed his wand while four other Slytherins proceeded into the corridor. Fauss pushed Harry forward.

"So this is where Dumbledore hid Malfoy," Massice said, looking around the corridor with crazy eagerness before his gleaming eyes fell upon the only door that broke the dull expanse of the grimy walls.

"This is where Dumbledore decided to hide him?" Blaise surveyed the shabby, cobwebbed corridor with a wrinkled nose. "And he didn't think we'd try to follow you?"

"Going senile is Dummydore?" mocked Carrow as he smirked down at a futilely struggling Harry.

"You have to be the first person to insult the Dark Lord like you did back there, Potter, I'll give you that," Fauss breathed into Harry's ear. "But you're going to sorely regret it. But first, shall we knock on the door and see who answers, eh?"

Warrington silently strode towards the door. The beautiful mermaid in the portrait perched on the rock surrounded by sea, behind her a dusky horizon, blinked at Warrington as she continued wringing her hair dry. Warrington, who Harry recognized as the rampaging Muggle-born bloke that had once tracked him down in the library to deliver one of Dumbledore's letters, dismissed her and knocked on the door. Not long afterward the six of them heard from the other side of the door, "Who is it?"

Massice's shoulders heaved as a wild bout of giggles attacked. Harry, who fought even harder against Fauss' arms, realized why they were here. They must have followed him from as far back as the Quidditch pitch when he had been with Ron. Those suspicious sounds in the corridors… How more foolish could he be? Those birds flying out of nowhere…?

Fauss carried Harry at wandpoint towards the door. He commanded Harry to say he was alone before he whispered, "_Finite Incantatem_." His moist breath Harry him thickly on the side of his face. When Harry wriggled still more vigorously Fauss held him tighter and drilled his wand into the side of his head.

"It's—it's me, Harry."

Betrayal. It mattered not that he did not paint Ron a picture of Draco's predicament – he would still ultimately betray him. They wanted Draco for some reason, and Harry was sure it was not to have tea and scorns with him.

As the door clicked open, Carrow remarked, "This is too easy," raised his wand to the door revealing Draco, yelled, "_Reducto!_" and sent the other boy flying across his room.

The five Slytherins spilled into the room. Before Harry could scream Fauss muttered, "_Silencio._" Harry was voiceless once more. Fauss held him with crushing force as they entered the room. Harry gave a final pleading expression to the mermaid in the portrait, despite knowing that she had only served him cold, stunning dispassion before. And today was not any different: his beseeching look fell on blind eyes as the beautiful mermaid continued to twist her black hair dry as ever with a look of complete indifference.

Massice crawled the room with moon-bright eyes. They had a perpetual glint as though always scouting the scene for shiny things. Harry almost expected him to start pulling Draco's drawers and wardrobe doors. After pocketing Draco's wand Carrow too studied the room but with one eye on Draco as though expecting him to be protected by a booby-trapped room. He seemed alert and ready. Warrington, who Harry could not see in Fauss's grip, closed the door and stood guard in front of it. Blaise leaned on Draco's armoire and wore a slight smirk on his lips as he regarded the proceedings in a droopy-eyed fashion as though he had made a career on barging into people's rooms.

Silence was upon them like a thick blanket. Draco sat up from the floor, wincing in pain. Harry then felt the vibrations in Fauss' wide chest as he yelled across the room, "Massice, what in Salazar's name are you doing there? Get back here, you barmy magpie!"

Massice quickly corrected himself, his face slightly pink, and assumed a threatening posture that befitted a Slytherin and held his wand up more balefully.

Fauss looked at Draco on the floor and grinned. "Malfoy. Fickle character, you are. So Dumbledore got you shacked up on this side of the castle. Didn't think there'd be any chance we'd find you, eh?" He swept his gaze across the room. "Rather a downgrade from your sweet prefect's joint, wouldn't you say? It just seems like it's not your year, is it, Malfoy? I mean, you first become a rent boy for—Hey, hey, hey, shush. Sit still, Potter. Don't draw attention to yourself. First, you become a rent boy for the Dark Lord – and you nearly become one for the Death Eaters; I'm sure your father had something to do with that. Then you try – and fail – to get back at the top of the food chain after that stunt you pulled on Monday with your duel with Nott. And now Dumbledore sweeps you out of your big, cosy Prefect's Room and shuffles you here into this… here…?" Fauss evidently could not find the words that would do his disgust justice at Draco, while raucous laughter filled the room.

Harry could not look at Draco after what Fauss said. He had not heard Draco spoken about or spoken to like that before. Likewise, Draco was not looking at him but glaring at anyone that met his eye in spite of the glaringly obvious hopelessness of his situation.

"You're pathetic and you always have been," Fauss went on as the laughter faded. "It's really no surprise all of this is happening to you. Running to your father the moment something doesn't go your way. Bragging about your father's power and the expensive things you got. But everyone has a day, Malfoy, a day when they get exposed for what you truly are. In your case, nothing but a babbling whore.

"And then you really push the Howler and go and get friendly with Potter here. I always knew you were worthless but shagging blokes, Malfoy? Come on… And a filthy half-blood to boot…?"

There was no more laughter but each Slytherin had a twisted, amused expression on his face.

"You know, Malfoy," Carrow piped up casually, "I can't even imagine what your father would think if he finds out about your sudden change in… preferences. I'd be surprised if he doesn't officially disown you the moment he hears about it – unless the Dark Lord finds and kills him and your mother before then of course."

Draco looked down at the ground.

"I guess we should have been surprised by Potter here for being with you," Fauss said. "Even half-bloods bring all matters of disgusting things with them. Never knew you were a faggot, Potter. Then again, surrounded by that blood traitor Weasel and that filthy Mudblood-" Harry thrashed around, his mouth furiously working but remaining voiceless. "-how else could you have turned out? That was quite an entrance the two of you made earlier today… You like that, Potter, that right there?" he asked, as he pointed at Draco.

Harry fumed and fought, but his lips were closed. He refused to dignify Fauss' words.

"No? You want me to help you answer that? Take your clothes off, Malfoy – your boyfriend here is in need of some motivation."

Indignation forgotten, pulse surging, Harry turned to Draco, who was still slouched on the wall and glaring at everyone.

Massice threw his head back in laughter, his voice flavoured with a high, eerie pitch. Blaise raised an eyebrow even and lengthened the smirk seemingly permanently affixed to his face.

Fauss laughed. "I said strip, Malfoy," he commanded. "Or do you need motivation as well? You can't get your knickers off in front of us anymore? Do you want him to strip too?"

Harry was certain he did not hear right. He cautiously eyed the Slytherins, trying to fathom the limits of what they were capable of doing with effectively infinite amount of time, for no one knew they were here.

Draco kept silent, his eyes watchful and indignantly forceful.

Fauss' voice took on a different tone. "Strip, Malfoy."

Harry found himself hoping Draco would comply for his own sake. His eyes darted to the four wands he could see held aloft – the fifth was aimed at him.

Then Fauss suddenly let go of Harry, who staggered and automatically searched his person for his wand, which, he remembered in dismay, was in Carrow's possession. Fauss poked his wand in the back of Harry's back and pushed him forward with it.

"Take your Charm off him," demanded Draco. They were his first words of the evening.

The Slytherins jeered, amused by Draco's gallantry.

Barely holding his grin from breaking out of the planes of his face, Fauss said softly, "As you wish. _Finite Incantatem_."

A non-existent weight was immediately lifted from Harry's throat. He cleared it experimentally.

"So?" said Fauss.

"Draco!" Harry shouted, wasting no time deploying his reemploying his retrieved voice, "You don't have to do anything! You don't have to listen to them!"

Massice and Carrow made lewd whistles at Harry. But Draco did not heed his words. He slowly stood up from the floor, gathering himself.

Harry looked back to see Warrington guarding the door, his massive, trunk-like arms crossed on his chest. These Slytherins were huge. Some of them must be Beaters. The shortest of them was Massice, whom Harry estimated to be at least half a head taller than him.

Draco rubbed the back of his head, still recovering from his time at the wrong end of Carrow's wand. With his hair messed up and without flinched he began peeling off his clothes, and Harry could only watch helplessly as the first few inches of pale skin were revealed.

"Draco, don't do this!" Harry begged.

"Shut up, Potter," Blaise said quietly. Harry did so, more because he was taken aback that Blaise had spoken than that he was doing what Blaise said.

As Draco silently and obediently untied the string of his pants, Fauss, his wand still pointed at Harry's head, ordered, "Sit down on the floor, Potter. Enjoy the show, why don't you."

Harry gave Fauss every dirty look he had in his arsenal. Fauss merely found it amusing. who seemed to find it amusing, for his smirk grew. He lowered himself on the floor and thought desperately, _Where's Dumbledore? How's anyone gonna find us…?_

When Draco's Barmees hit the floor Harry cast his head down, trying to hide his reddening face. How he was still able to get turned on in a situation like this was beyond him.

Draco stood in front of the room naked, his clothes pooled at his feet. Fauss stalked towards Draco while his accomplices watched him. He circled Draco, stopped behind him, went forward and perched his chin on Draco's shoulder, looking down at Harry from beside Draco's head.

"Yeah, you like this, don't you, Potter?" Fauss purred. "I'll tell you what a little secret about us pureblood families: this is fake all right here. Top A-grade product, is what it is. Inbreeding of pureblood families, see? They only marry the best genes to make their heirs, and at the top of their bloodline, only the finest species is produced. That's nice, yeah? Beautiful, even?" Laughter bounced off the walls of the room. Fauss brought his arms and held Draco's midsection. Draco did not move. "But there're several unfortunate flaws your wonderful Draco has here. Would you like to point them out, Malfoy? I'm sure your father's told you all about them himself, yeah?"

Fauss suddenly pulled Draco's hair, making Draco dangle off the floor. Compared to the robust, formidable figure of Fauss behind him, Draco looked positively dainty.

"Look at yourself," Fauss sneered as he gave Draco a sever once-over. "Long hair…" Fauss pulled painfully on the white-blond locks.

Draco came to life. He snarled and thrashed with a pained look on his face which Harry suspected was not from Fauss trying to pull his hair out of his skull but rather from what Fauss had said.

"Your height, your hands…" Fauss whispered.

"Fuck you!" Draco bellowed, thrashing wildly, his grey eyes shiny and furious – like boiling silver lava.

Fauss smirked. "Oh does the truth hurt, Malfoy? Did he tell you how disappointed you make him?"

Draco thrashed even madder if it were possible. Fauss pulled harder on his hair. "Yeah, I bet he did, didn't he?" he whispered viciously. "Because I think he wanted something like that…" Fauss pointed at Blaise Zabini – tall, slender, built, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw – the perfect pureblood specimen. The slant-eyed Slytherin stood with his arms crossed over his chest and a stoic expression on his face. Blaise clearly treasured his well-being more than he did his friendship with Draco – there was no suggestion in any line of his body that he was going to try to stop Fauss.

By the bright light afforded by the semi-spherical pebble on the ceiling Harry was able to see that Draco's lashes were soaked with tears begging to fall. Was Fauss telling the truth? Did Lucius resent his son because of his physical shortcomings? Shortcomings his son could not help?

"To continue his bloodline, keep it strong," Fauss continued.

"My father loves me! Me-mum-mee!" Draco's words were smothered as Fauss covered his mouth.

Fauss continued as though uninterrupted, "Then what happens? He ends up with you, pretty little thing, hm?" He kissed Draco's cheek tenderly with wind-chapped lips. "Sweet thing, you are. The Dark Lord was right making you his whore – you can't do a bloody Unforgivable and you wanted to be a Death Eater?" The other Slytherins laughed. "Yeah, he saw another use for you." Fauss cackled. "He thought you'd be far more, er, competent in bed-" Draco legs flailed and his arms fought for their freedom as he screamed behind Fauss' hand. "-I'm sorry I can't appreciate you like Potty does over here – I don't swing that way. But since it's quite obvious Potter does, why doesn't he get a taste of you himself, hm? You want him, Potter? Wanna stick your prick somewhere in him?"

Shaking with rage at his indecent words, Harry suddenly ceased moving as Fauss' last words sunk in, and breath-freezing fright stole him. He stared up at Fauss from the floor.

Fauss raised an eyebrow. "Hm? Want a piece of him too? Want to shag him? Have the two of you ever shagged before?" he asked Draco conversationally. Bu Draco was too incensed to be competent enough to reply, continuing to struggle in Fauss' arms.

"I asked you a question, Malfoy," Fauss said quietly as he tightened his grip on him.

Draco gave a final and still futile tug on Fauss' arm, flipped his hair out of his face and answered, "No."

"Well, then," Fauss announced loftily, "this should be an experience. Well, an experience for Potter since you've already done your fair share of shagging, being the so-called Slytherin Sex Prince and all. So this shouldn't be new to you. How about you do that spell that strips the girls in one move on Potter, I've always liked that one. No one has been able to do it. Armelo?"

Carrow pulled Draco's wand out from his Quidditch robe and threw it at its owner, who caught it in one hand. Fauss pointed his wand at Harry, and four wands were trained on Draco lest he try something.

Harry stared aghast at Draco holding his wand.

Draco looked at Harry. Harry looked back at him, hardly believing what was happening and going to happen.

"Come now, Malfoy, do it. Don't try anything – four to one is foolhardy, and you were never the brave one, to say the least."

Draco took a deep breath and then wordlessly made several, quick, complicated movements with his wand. Glasses, wristwatch, Quidditch robe, school jersey, shirt, belt, shoes, socks, shirt, pants, and Snitch underwear all ripped off his body in that order, sailed across the room and landed on Draco's bed, leaving Harry sitting on the floor in front of six Slytherins entirely naked and stunned. After regaining his bearings his senses caught up with him and he quickly covered himself with his hands and by folding his legs.

"Sudden Starkers Spell," remarked Blaise with the slightest note of wryness and reminiscence in his voice. "You were always selfish about that spell, Malfoy, wherever you got it from."

"Always nice to have something in your arsenal others don't," drawled Draco.

"Oh he's shy," giggled Massice, beaming down at Harry.

"Well after today he won't be," Fauss promised. He released Draco and trained his wand on him. "On your knees, Malfoy."

"Why does Malfoy have to be the one that gets buggered in the arse?" asked Blaise. "Don't you want the normal show, for ol' times' sake?"

There was a silence in which Blaise was scrutinized heavily by his four fellows. Four pairs of eyes, sparkling with calculation, bored into him. Even the air dared not stir.

Draco cautiously regarded Blaise from beneath his forehead.

But slowly a smile stretched Fauss' lips. "The Boy Who Lived, fucked in the arse," he laughed, joined by Carrow, Massice, and Warrington, malice shining in their eyes.

"Dare we touch Dumbledore's Golden Boy?" Carrow sang in amusement.

"Bend over, Potter," ordered Fauss swiftly. They dared. "Come on, like the filthy mongrel you are."

Harry did not move, reeling. Unfortunately Fauss was evidently not the most patient of the group. "I said, bend over, Potter! _Crucio!_"

Orange brilliance blasted out from Fauss' wand and for the second time in his life Harry felt the slicing torture of the Cruciatus Curse. A scream flew out his lungs before his pride could shoot it down. It sought out every nerve ending and ripped it apart. Every part of his body, every organ, turned into itself, was punished, and forced open again to pain again…

"Mitchell, bloody hell," breathed Carrow, sounding alarmed for the first time. "You can get life for this, you know that? An Unforgivable in the middle of soddin' Hogwarts?"

"No one's going to prosecute me – the Ministry's already fallen at the Dark Lord's feet, you stupid cunt!" Fauss roared over Harry's screams. "There's no such thing as a Trace anymore! It's a new order!"

The Slytherins looked on at the gruesome sight of Harry's writhing body on the floor under Fauss' wand. Warrington moved away from the door and stood next to the others, wishing to get a better view of Harry.

His feet curled but his toes splayed. His fingers jerked in ten different directions but his wrists twisted inwards. His calves and his biceps rippled. His buttocks clenched and quivered. His back contorted. The muscles in the back of his thighs were strung and the ones in the front were wrenched away from the bone. His lungs boiled, his stomach turned heavy, and every inch of him cried for mercy.

"_Finite Incantatem._"

A silence fell in the room in which all observed Harry and his quaking muscles, which were tortured to confusion. Even a few seconds after the curse was lifted Harry's limbs still twitched violently as his hoarse panting filled the air.

"So, are you going to play along, Potter?" Fauss asked, breathing hard himself.

Without further motivation Harry's body submitted, summarily dismissing his sensibilities and choosing perpetuation: Harry shakily turned over and stood on all fours. Turning his head to the side, he spit out blood and a small piece of his tongue which he had bitten off when he was writhing under the curse.

The Slytherins sprung backward, the most exaggerated of whom was Warrington, who even fell back into Draco's bed. Such was his repulsion, which twisted his and his companion's faces.

A gratified smirk curved Fauss' lips as he looked at the others. "See that there, that's a half-blood's soiled blood, that is." Fauss sneered down at the bubbly, red liquid. "Hurts my eyes just seeing it. _Tergeo._" Warrington made an odd movement that was missed by Fauss, who, as soon as the blood disappeared on the floor, muttered, "Disgusting." He shivered slightly, clearly overwhelmed.

Positioned there with his hands and knees on the floor, his backside exposed to the Slytherins, his mind was almost non-functioning: he was going to be sodomized – a penis was going to be penetrated, a bloody prick… Draco was going to rape him. Draco was going to put his penis up his bum as he has done to countless girls, apparently… A penis up his bum… Draco… This was all wrong. This was not how things were meant to happen. He had not exactly had a mental exposition of it but merely a crude, hazy dream-byte of him and Draco being intimidate like this someday, somehow, somewhat, somewhere… But now here he was, his bum facing five other boys… The shock, the humiliation, embarrassment, the ignominy... On his hands and knees like a bitch, waiting to be done… The emasculation…

This was corruption. How could they do this to them? To him? Take away their chance like this, take away all room of possibility, of hope? Take away their opportunities to do this in their own pace, in their own time, in their own spaces and leisure, however small a chance they would do this was however far into the future, however small the possibility that they would be together that long?

As Harry heard Draco being cajoled forward with what was unmistakably a sharp and bold slap to his bum, and hearing the bones in Draco's feet crack as he came closer to him, there came something vastly peculiar to Harry: a certain quiet and excited resignation – a calm, even nervous but anticipatory acceptance… He had not known he had harboured this distorted wish, that he vaguely desired this to be done upon him. It would take him closer to Draco… Draco had suffered this form of torture before, and perhaps if suffered it as well he could understand how Draco feels. It could make him understand Draco better. It could form… a bond… between them?… It could bring them closer…? What it sick to think…? To want to be raped? Even though it would be Draco himself to do this to him…?

He closed his eyes, his arms shaking slightly, his feet curling and uncurling with his frail nerves. His hearing grew so acute he could hear Draco's soft but stilted breathing nearly as loudly as his own pounding heart – evidently Draco was just as frightened as he was in spite of his experience with sex.

He heard Draco's knees hit the floor and a few more cricks of bone as he arranged himself behind him. He heard the boy sniff dryly.

"Harry," he heard the soft voice say.

Harry's hands curled into half-formed fists against the cold floor. The voice was bittersweet to the ear – perfidious and desired all at once. He gave away no other sign that he heard Draco save his hand movements. He could see him with the corners of his eyes: his pale arms obscured the other figures behind them who watched voyeuristically. And with that reminder of their presence, that there were others involved beyond them who intruded into this moment, everything came barging in from all corners of his perception of his situation and threw him out of his mind space.

The other five occupants of the room moved about randomly and adjusted themselves undoubtedly so as to watch the show as comfortably as possible.

"Harry." It was the pleading voice again. But Harry did not respond. He felt two hands land on the cheeks of his buttocks and blinding panic rushed through him. His cheeks clenched, his arms shook more than ever, and his pulse soared above the seventh floor. _Bloody hell, a prick's going inside me…_

An impatient voice behind them snapped, "Bloody hell, Malfoy, get on with it. We haven't all day, in case you don't know. This isn't exactly what we came here for, we've got other business to take care of with you."

The laughter evaporated at these words and left them to ring in the quiet. Harry momentarily felt Draco's fingers dig into him.

When nothing happened Fauss spoke and it sounded like his patience had run its course.

"Malfoy, get on with it. You shouldn't be getting the pixies about shagging your bloody boyfriend – you've done this with how many girls before? An arse is an arse whether it has bits attached to it or not."

Seconds later Harry heard Draco mutter a spell. He said it again more clearly and this time Harry felt as though something cold had slid into his anus, lined it with its coldness and exited him swiftly – almost the same sensation he had felt when he had been six years old on the rare occasion Mr Dudley finally gave into rightly sending him to the hospital after being sick for weeks, and the nurse had inserted a pill rectally.

"_Expelliarmus._" There was a sharp, whipping sound from behind Harry, who understood it to be Draco's wand leaving his hand.

Then, after the slightest of moments of nervous silence, Harry felt something blunt begin to intrude past his anal sphincter. He gasped as a weird coldness spread over him. This was actually happening. He then felt something warm land on his back.

He gasped again as the round head of Draco's penis enter him. He felt more warm liquid splatter on his back: Draco was crying.

Harry scrunched his eyes harder and ground his jaw as more inches slid into him. The preparation felt futile.

This was unnatural – it should not be happening. They should not be doing this. This should not be happening inside Hogwarts. _Dumbledore, please save us… Don't let me and Draco be ruined like this – it wasn't meant to be this way… Dumbledore, please save us… I don't want to do it like this, I don't want to have this experience like this – I want to do it on our own terms, if we ever do… How can I shut myself off so that I can save myself…? Dumbledore, please save us… Save our love, my love, our possibilities… How can I choose to not experience this right now, like this…?_

"Clear your mind of all thought and concentrate on nothing. Sit still, don't move, but leave your mind blank."

Clear my mind… Occlumency… I can take my mind away from this so I can save it for another time… Don't move… Leave my mind blank… Sit Still… Concentrate on nothing… Clear my mind of all thoughts…

And with that, Harry Occluded his mind, and it was as though he was never there. His body remained propped on all fours, arms as rigid and thighs as taught as ever to keep him up, anus relaxed and never once denying Draco, breath gone shallow, calmer, deeper; his pulse had plunged from its stratospheric high… Harry was gone, gone so that he would not feel what was happening, gone so that he would not grant the Slytherins what they wanted, which was to corrupt this special occasion. Gone so that if it may happen in the future he and Draco would do it on their own terms, at their own pace, and at their own free will. He was gone to preserve the possibility of their maiden lovemaking and to keep it special.

It seemed that rather like a snake, whose body will twist and contort however gruesomely to ensnare its prey, the Slytherins, to whom the thought of two boys was unfathomable before they could even be repulsed by it, they took and perverted with the single and express aim to hurt budding couple.

Contortion… Distortion… Perversion... Corruption.

"Slap his arse!" shrieked Massice, whose voice was quickly followed by sounds of gagging, the stomping of feet and backslapping, all of which was undeniable evidence of barely controlled hilarity among the Slytherins.

"Talk dirty to him!" roared Carrow amidst his guffaws.

"Slap his arse again!" Massice demanded.

"Pull his hair!" panted Carrow.

Draco did as he was told: he slapped the cheeks until it was pink, spewed his dirtiest words and lines over the bent back, pulled on the jet-black hair and rode Harry to Merlin's castle. His tears had stopped flowing some time before.

* * *

_"Harry…"_

_"…Harry…"_

_"…Harry."_

"Don't worry, I'll wake him up for you."

A vicious slap to the head snapped Harry back to the present, and he found himself sprawled on the cold tiled floor of Draco's room on the fifth floor of the castle. He blinked and nursed the side of his face where it stung angrily, his assaulter apparently being Fauss, who now towered above him, angry written on his square face. Harry grabbed his glasses from the floor and backed away from the tall, menacing figure. And to show that this action should not be confused with cowering he glared brazenly up at Fauss, upon whose face a smirk began to grow.

"I think you're losing your magic, Malfoy – Potter here was so bored by your performance he dozed off on his knees," he snorted, before being generously rewarded with roaring laughter from his Slytherin accomplices behind him.

Harry sat up and slipped on his glasses, whereupon his eyes immediately shot to Draco, who was looking back at him with a creased forehead. Harry had no idea why he looked puzzled but he smiled at him. But this only served to deepen the furrows on Draco's forehead.

His smile vanished as quickly as it put it up on his face when Fauss kicked his foot, which he drew closer to him before he gathered himself again and covered his genitals once more.

"Whatchu smiling at?" spat Fauss aggressively.

"I'm smiling at my boyfriend."

The laughter fell sharply.

Harry then learned that there were different kinds of silences: some silences… rang… and others… just lived… and some silences… it was as though even the silence itself died, as though there was nothing in its space, as though nothing, not even silence, could exist in that space. It was something less than silence. Fauss' silence was empty. Fauss and Harry stared at each other. Fauss was speechless for once. Indeed the word boyfriend being spoken by one boy to another in a world where homosexuality was unheard of, particularly in pureblood circles, the use of it must be quite devastating if extraordinary.

One of the Slytherins started spluttering. The moment finally broken, Fauss seemed to regain his senses, for he moved quickly, grabbing Draco by the hair and pulling him across the floor to a position between Harry and the rest of the Slytherins. Fauss pointed his wand at Draco, fury singing all over his body.

"Wise arse you think you are, eh, Potter?" he spat.

Blaise was quiet but looked alarmed: he had no more smirks to hang on his handsome face, and his soft, hazel eyes, once droopy almost in boredom in the whole affair, were now thrown wide open.

"How smart-mouthed will you still be after I rip his body apart, eh?" Fauss growled. Harry stared at him. His smile too had fallen.

Fauss gave a forceful grin of satisfaction – an evil, maniacal expression that twisted his features horribly. Then, as he turned to Draco, the Slytherin seemed to master himself: he stood taller and took a slow, deep breath. He did not appear threatening anymore but now had a business-like expression on his face. His wand did not quiver with unhinged rage but was now held steadily in matured fashion.

"The Dark Lord is very angry with you Malfoys," Fauss began quietly. His abrupt change of tone made everything that had happened before feel as though it had not happened. He took another breath, swallowed, and then continued in that same pragmatic manner, "First, my father told me the Dark Lord has been angry with your father ever since his glorious rebirth for a reason not many know. Then Nott screwed up and failed to off you and got ten years in Azkaban for attempted murder where he'll soon learn that the Dark Lord killed his father for his own incompetence. I say Nott senior didn't deserve the honour of dying by the Dark Lord's wand. So now that you're still alive, Malfoy, he sent us to finish off the job, and trust me when I say we won't be as sloppy as Nott."

A glint in Fauss's eyes told Harry he need not bother thinking Fauss was in any way bluffing, as well a steady, mellowed, matured expression that grew on Fauss's face, one that should not grace the face of a mere teenager.

Harry ventured a glance at Draco and his heart skipped a beat: Draco was glaring that glare that had a stunned quality to it, the way it looked when he heard something rather unexpected.

The mood had changed. No one but Fauss spoke or moved. "You're really taking your chances, aren't you? You dare escape from the Dark Lord? Your family disappears completely – ever since you abandoned Malfoy Manor no one's been able to enter it; the Dark Lord now uses Riddle Manor as his headquarters. He's very angry with you lot. Very angry. He only wishes for your death now. But I don't think he'll waste his time by hunting you himself – he's got better things to spend his time on. Like getting rid of Dumbledore and taking over Hogwarts."

The room seemed finally to breathe when a serene smile broke on Fauss's face, again another expression that did not fit his face – now not because it was reserved for older faces with more lines and weathered muscles to use, but because the mind behind the expression had perverted its meaning.

"That day's not too far now," Fauss went on. "Soon, all those other Houses will be kissing our feet. They'll be making our breakfast after we'll have killed off the last of those despicable kitchen-elves." Fauss inhaled deeply, glee on his face as he looked towards the wall as though seeing on its plain expanse the promise in his words as though a carousel projector had thrown the image from his mind onto it. And again there was a weird return to normality to the room as the other four Slytherins watching Slytherins nodded with smirks on their faces. Such trifling threats to lowly creatures like elves were easily more familiar and digestible.

Fauss turned to Harry. "Better believe that, Potter, you hear? Hogwarts isn't safe anymore – you got kids reporting back to their fathers about what's going on in the castle so they can counsel the Dark Lord. Yeah, that's right – the Dark Lord knows everything that's going on inside here, Potter."

He turned back to Draco and seemed to brace himself again for a moment. "Why say we finish this little get-together off with a grand finale, yeah?" Fauss said forcefully. "Do the bloody deed and return to the Dark Lord with good news! He'll reward me! I will overtake all the other Death Eaters! At seventeen!" Fauss had become wild now: his face was gleaming strangely and his eyes had grown bigger than that of a house-elf. His whole body trembled. He seemed to be to be psyching himself up.

Harry's heart raced, his pulse shot up, disbelief washing over him and astonishing him, panic pulsing over it. A few feet away from him Draco shook violently. His eyes shone and they were erupting like silver magma. "Fauss," Draco whispered, his breath catching, "Mitchell, please…"

Draco was begging for his life.

"Shut up. SHUT UP!" boomed Fauss. He doubtlessly wished not to lose his momentum. "This is glory right here! I can gain it! I will stand beside my father when they gather, with my own cloak and my own mask…" His wand was shaking again, he was grinning liberally. He did not even look evil but simply mad. His eyes did not even appear to look directly at the person at which his wand was pointing. "I will kill you. I will complete my mission. I will exalt the Dark Lord!"

_Somebody save us. Dumbledore, please save us. Find us and save us_, Harry begged in his heart.

Draco was sobbing, mucus peeking out from under one nostril. "Mitchell, please, I'm sorry for ev-"

"I said shut up! _Avada Kedavra!_"

"No!" roared Harry, diving forward. Draco screamed loudly, pale limbs flailing. The other Slytherins seemed to hold their breath despite themselves.

But nothing happened.

There was one shivering moment of absolute stillness and silence wherein Draco's scream bounced along the walls and reverberate inside Harry's head like a deep gong. But then Fauss, without another word, lunged at Harry and rained kicks and punches on him until he had him backed up to the foot of Draco's bed. When he was satisfied that the ball of flesh at his feet was sufficiently crumpled he returned to Draco. His silence was the eeriest thing in that room. Harry sprung out of his balled position and scrabbled to shield Draco again. Fauss initially started forward again undoubtedly to give Harry a second round but then seemed to be struck with a better idea. He turned to his four companions standing equally mutely against the wall. "Armelo, hold him," he ordered hoarsely.

When Harry whipped his head towards said person he caught the slightest hesitation in Carrow before the boy decisively came forward and wrestled him away from Draco, at which point Harry began yelling obscenities in languages of which he had not known he had command. But Carrow had none of it and soon had him in a half-nelson a good distance away from Fauss and Draco.

Blaise could not hide his fear any longer and it showed plainly on his face. There was a forced delight to Massice's insane expression. Warrington remained stoic and unmoving, though his blinking was rather rapid.

Harry screamed and yelled, to distract Fauss or irritate Carrow and be let go, to delay, to prolong, to save… His shrill voice was the only sound breaking the abundant silence.

"_Silencio_," muttered Fauss with a distracted flick of his wand as he continued pacing in front of a heaving Draco. Harry was silenced for the third time that evening.

_Dumbledore, Hermione, Ron, where are you…? Save us…_

Voiceless as they were, Harry's lips continued moving feverishly and his naked limbs continued thrashing against Carrow.

Fauss' pacing sped up. His eyes were wide once more and he blinked immoderately. Then he stopped dead in his tracks as though he had hit an invisible wall and turned to Draco. He took a step forward, slowly, and studied Draco's face deeply as though it were the first time seeing the fellow Slytherin. His rapid blink had ceased. Draco looked up from his lap, put his hands put together in entreaty – his whole body heaving and his flushed cheeks shining with tears – begged, "Mitchell, please don't kill me…"

"I've always hated you, Malfoy, "Fauss said as though he had not heard Draco speak. "Ever since you laid your foot in this castle in third year. You came strutting in with your huge, bragging mouth and your expensive clothes and that overgrown owl of yours. I was up there nice and comfortable way before you came along. And everybody had just to fall in love with you, didn't they? And why, because you were the wealthy heir, the son of the one and only Lucius Malfoy, that you were the hottest hunk in Hogwarts? Hunk…?" he spat humourlessly.

"And no one seemed to mind that you were always in one way or another overshadowed or humiliated by Potter – no, no, not at all. Your first match as Seeker and we all had your daddy's new shiny brooms and we still lost spectacularly… Last year with that barmy Moody going around the school as crazy as he is and turning you into a white bloody ferret! Oh yeah, sure, most people had a laugh at you, but you soon climbed out of that one, even, didn't you, Malfoy? You just took my seat of power and sat your skinny, poncy arse on it. People were crazy about you, weren't they…?"

His talking seemed not to have worked for him, for Fauss looked frustrated now.

Harry had stopped screaming and thrashing in the middle of Fauss's speech when he had realized what Fauss was failing to do. He remembered Draco's words from the DA meeting: _Even many adults can't cast the Killing Curse. To be able to cast it you have to really want the person dead, and not many people understand that or are able to completely feel that way. It's an entirely different intent, an entirely different feeling. It's an enigmatic intent, simple but complex a process._

Fauss focused on Draco again, forcing himself to stand still. "I hate you with a passion, you know that? From your feet to your head! There's nothing special about you! You're a fuckin' midget, just like Potter. You're pale, you're skinny, you're an abomination, you're the fuckin' most pathetic thing and most despicable thing I've ever seen! Whored to the Dark Lord, you're fuckin' useless! I want you to die!

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

And finally, with an irredeemable mania to his contorted features, his morphed face and the walls shone green as the curse exploded from his wand.

_And those who are capable of casting the Killing Curse, I don't know about them. I don't know if they are still human…_

This could not be it, could it? Surely the green-lit spell was not rushing out of Fauss's wand and going to hit Draco and Draco would not wake up again… surely.

Surely they did all this to ruin their lives and _live_to suffer this ruin.

Surely fellow schoolmates were not this cruel.

Surely teenagers could not wish to kill.

Surely this was not when his love's life comes to an end.

Surely he must live after this.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

The firing wand jerked out of Fauss' hand and knocked the incoming curse off its course, landing it on the wall above the headboard of the bed. And it flew in that patented graceful arc into the hands of Albus Dumbledore, behind whom the door swung on his hinges after it had flung open.

As the cursed wall exploded and its crumbles fell onto the bed, the other Slytherins whipped up their wands to Dumbledore but faltered when they tried to hold them steady at his person.

"You may pack your belongings and I will escort you to the Ministry, Mr Fauss," Dumbledore announced calmly, looking at Fauss with stormy ceruleans, unfazed by the four wands that were aimed at him.

Unrestrained, and instincts taking over, Harry quickly searched the distracted Carrow and reclaimed his wand. Looking back at Dumbledore, if he was not mistaken, he noticed that apart from the steeliness in Dumbledore's eyes, there was also disappointment and sadness swirling in them, and Harry rather thought Dumbledore had looked the same way when he had handled Nott two days ago after his attempt on Draco's life. Perhaps Dumbledore felt disappointed that his students could turn on their fellow schoolmates, that they were capable of such evil.

Recovering himself, Fauss faced Dumbledore with that mania still breaking slowly on his face and, wandlessly, mocked, "I think you'll find, Dumbledore, that you'll be dead before long before you even set foot in the Ministry! You can't sentence me to Azkaban, you old doddering fool – your title as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot means nothing! The Dark Lord owns the Ministry now!"

"And _I_think you'll find, Mr Fauss, that the issue of whether Voldemort has toppled the Ministry or not is irrelevant. You will be spending the next ten years of your youth in Azkaban Prison for the attempted murder of Draco Malfoy. As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot I declare this, and in my personal capacity, I promise it."

Silence reined in the wake of Dumbledore' words, and there came that inexplicable shiver of magic that Harry was certain everyone in that room felt. Harry also saw Draco's eyes ignite.

"Gentlemen, please lower your wands," ordered Dumbledore.

Needless of further motivation, the other four Slytherins did as they were told after glancing at each other uncertainly. Fauss glared down furiously at them. "Don't tell me you believe this old goat!" he scoffed. "He's bluffing! He's got no power in the Ministry! And soon he'll have no power in Hogwarts! Pick up those bloody wands – now!"

The Slytherins' eyes bounced about each other, their confusion as to what to do visibly mounting. Their hands were still wrapped tightly around their wands.

"I promise to relieve the four of you of your charges of aiding and abetting a criminal if you relinquish your wands to me, whereupon I shall safeguard them until I deem you deserving of regaining them. The Ministry needn't hear of this arrangement and you needn't cast away your youth so unnecessarily, Mr Zabini, Mr Warrington, Mr Carrow, and Mr Massice."

Dumbledore solemnly met the eye of each owner of the names he spoke, and it was clear that his ability to name each of Slytherin boys had a profound effect upon them.

Shortly following Dumbledore's words, four clinking noises punctuated the silence as the wands hit the floor.

Dumbledore gathered the wands in hands with a small flick of his wand.

"Thank you, gentlemen. Kindly excuse us." The four Slytherins rushed out the room without hesitation, leaving Fauss, Harry, Draco and Dumbledore in the room. Dumbledore looked at Fauss. "Mr Fauss, I am prepared to reduce your sentence if you demonstrate some contrition to your actions – please apologize to Mr Malfoy."

Fauss actually threw his head back and released a genuine, incredulous bark of laughter. "You still don't get it!" he marvelled boisterously. "You can't send a pureblood to Azkaban – the Dark Lord practically controls it and the Ministry!"

Dumbledore observed his student. "You do not show contrition to your actions but rather signs of hysteria. That might be remedied by, perhaps, a cup of tea first?"

Harry could not believe his ears. Shock had rendered him motionless when Dumbledore had appeared out of nowhere and disarmed Fauss. Draco was still alive even though Harry had seen and heard the Killing Curse. He had resigned himself to the fact that once it issued, once the Killing Curse sang its deadly whoosh, there was nothing left after that, someone or something was to cease to move forever. But here Draco lived. Dumbledore had somehow heard his mental pleas for help and had come to save them. And hearing the familiar and much endearing note of eccentricity in the voice of someone whom he regarded as the greatest wizard in the whole world almost threw him in a fit of uncontrollable, slightly hysterical – therefore worrying, especially now – laughter.

Fauss looked as though he had taken a Bludger to his head. Harry could not blame him after what Dumbledore had proposed.

"A c—a cup of tea?" stuttered Fauss.

Dumbledore gave him a tight smile. "Yes, a cup of tea. Though at this time of the day, I think I'd appreciate more a fat cup of hot chocolate."

Harry went over to Draco before he could allow himself to smile after what he and Draco had gone through in that room. Draco leapt to his feet and embraced him fiercely as he came, and they stood there holding each other while a thoroughly bewildered Fauss and Dumbledore conversed – or stared at each other.

Fauss blinked at Dumbledore, who smiled back.

"Knew you'd gone bloody senile, _Headmaster!_" Fauss spat, seeming to have recovered himself.

"Be that as it may, you're still at my mercy, Mr Fauss," Dumbledore pointed out kindly.

At Fauss' silence Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. Then he waved his wand and a table with two chairs, a steaming pot of tea, and two cups and saucers appeared between them. Fauss blinked down at the set table. Dumbledore smiled at Fauss. Fauss held his arms out. "Just take me to the Ministry, Dumbodore," he drawled lazily, seemingly overwhelmed by the man's actions.

The smile vanished off Dumbledore's face and disappointment seemed to flicker there again. "As you wish. Please proceed to the door. I needn't shackle you – I don't wish to be so crude."

Fauss sighed nonchalantly and swept past Dumbledore and his tea set towards the door. Dumbledore turned to follow him.

"Professor," Harry called. Dumbledore turned around, looking at Harry for the first time since he had appeared, and he did not appear perturbed in the slightest at seeing him naked along with Draco, whom he had seen naked for the second time in the same week.

Harry could not speak for a moment – he was overwhelmed and infinitely grateful for Dumbledore's ever-wonderful omniscience. "Sir, how did you… how did you know we needed your help?"

A huge smile broke on Dumbledore's face. "Oh I'm just friendly with the local portraits," he replied simply, and his eyes twinkled before he swept out of the room, leaving him with Draco and the table.

Amazingly, Harry found himself also thankful to the mermaid in the portrait hanging outside on the very door that now clicked shut behind Dumbledore. The mermaid with the indifferent demeanour had called for help. He turned around and looked at Draco, went over and held his boyfriend again.


	29. Restoration

**Chapter 29**

**Restoration**

They held each other tightly in the middle of the room beside Dumbledore's table, both amidst a sea of thoughts, anxieties and fears of their own. Draco was shaking all over in Harry's arms as Harry embraced him crushingly, stroked the smooth blond hair and rubbed the pale back consolingly.

"It's okay, it's okay," Harry soothed. "They're gone. It's all over…" But Draco shook his head. "It's okay. They won't come back. Dumbledore took care of them. Fauss's going to Azkaban and we'll never see him again. Dumbledore took care of them. They won't touch us…" Harry choked on his words and Draco shook his head again. Harry sniffed and buried his face in Draco's shoulder, hiding his anguish. "It's okay… It's okay…" How empty his words were…

He sighed heavily. As he pulled from Draco the air hit the moisture on his shoulders where Draco's tears had seeped into his shirt. Draco initially resisted the separation but relented after Harry suggested they drink the tea Dumbledore had inadvertently left for them. Draco did not say a word but turned towards the table, wiping his wet face with his arm, all the while maintaining at least one point of contact between him and Harry.

Harry did not know where to look. He fought against the urge to prostrate himself before Draco and burst out in contrite exclamations. Anything would be better than carrying on as though nothing was amiss, as though he did not carry an immense amount of guilt in his heart.

He was about to drop into the chair opposite Draco when the Slytherin's quietly spoken words stopped him.

"Bring your chair here."

He had decided with half a mind not to look directly at Draco, but when the other boy spoke Harry's eyes inadvertently Harry's eyes flew to him and he absorbed Draco's face. For several moments Harry could not look away from the blotched, shining face, where the products of his incompetence were eloquently expressed. A wretched sense of defeat scorched his throat like a leaping flame. He nodded in acquiescence and kept his head down. He brought his chair over to Draco's side and fetched his empty cup and saucer. Though his mind was occupied by these mechanical actions, Draco somehow seemed to stand out sharply in the corners of his eyes as though they were refusing to let him escape the sight of him. As though they refused to let him forget even for a second about what he had brought upon Draco.

When the both of them were finally seated next to each other, Harry, after a hesitant pause, poured the tea while Draco continued to sit quietly and gaze at the table top, his eyes distant and his hands resting upturned on his lap in the exact manner that they did when Harry had sneaked into Draco's Prefect's Room in the Slytherin dungeons and watched Draco stare back at himself in the mirror as his veneer vanished. It broke Harry's heart to see the same face he had seen uncovered before.

After pouring for Draco and leaving his wand on the table, Harry sat back with his cup and sipped his tea, careful to keep the part of his tongue missing a bit from the hot liquid. "Drink, Draco," he said thickly and cautiously when Draco did not touch his cup but remained in position. "It's still hot."

This seemed to jar to the boy out of whatever had captured him. A pale arm reached over the table, the long fingers grasped the handle of the cup and brought it up to the thin lips. Over the top of his cup, Harry watched Draco closely, for the boy paid no attention to him. He watched as the fingers turned pink where Draco held the cup, as the cup slid over his lips, as his hand tilted the cup over, and as the tea washed his lips around the brim when the liquid was deposited into his mouth.

Harry's eyes travelled downwards and took in Draco's wet penis before they automatically went over to his own. It was then that he realized that if Draco had sodomized him, he was probably wet after Draco ejaculated inside him. And the moment he thought of this he was suddenly aware of a cold, liquid feeling on his left inner thigh and calf: he had Draco's semen on him. But that it was Draco's did not diminish his disgust – it was still another man's semen. Newly aware of his state, Harry moved about uncomfortably as he felt the entire, cold path of foreign semen from his anus to his calf. He also picked up on a slight burning sensation in his anus.

It all served as confirmation that all of it had happened, that they had been forced to have sex by a gang of Slytherins who had followed him from the Quidditch stadium with Ron to Draco's room. And they had almost killed Draco. Fauss's wand had produced the Killing Curse. He nearly lost Draco. He sought out Draco's face again, and as ever more, the pale face looked distant and detached. Harry could not help it, and he looked down into his tea and quietly drank, sighing around the brim of his cup.

The two boys just sat and quietly sipped their tea. The only thing to break the silence was the occasional sound of Draco slurping his tea. Harry could not tell if it was deliberate and he did not ask any questions. The room was sombre and lifeless.

After a few more minutes of this Draco moved, replacing his cup on his saucer on the table and turning to Harry. "Can I borrow your wand?" he asked indifferently. His demeanour was most unassuming as he did not make any gesture to reach out for Harry's wand before his answer but his face remained flat and heavy.

For several moments Harry, caught off guard, could do nothing but stare back into those flat grey seas. So many things rushed through his mind, but he quickly gathered himself and replied, "Er, sure." He handed Draco his wand and blinked a few times. Draco pointed it at his tall armoire.

It only occurred to Harry then that the boy who had been referred to as Armelo had Draco's wand. Harry's face went white. He had forgotten to take Draco's wand when he had collected his own from the same Slytherin's person… He had forgotten… It was just… It was just blind instinct for him to reconnect with his wand. Draco's wand never came into the picture, because he always thought that as long as he had his wand there was still hope, still possibilities. So anything else to be done beyond reclaiming it did not matter until he did so, it could wait. As long as he got hold of his main and only weapon… After which point all else would be figured out and he would proceed from there.

The doors of the armoire gracefully swept open and out slowly floated a huge, folded, extremely fluffy green blanket.

Draco asked to use his wand because he had figured Armelo still had his wand.

A vivid and obvious green, the blanket landed in Draco's hands, which unfolded it. A large, fat embroidered grey dragon spitting a yellow flame was revealed in the centre of the blanket: it was easily observable that this blanket came from childhood and was held onto ever since. Draco brought up his legs onto his seat and heaved the blanket upon both him and Harry, over whom immense humiliation now stole. Harry had not been considerate enough to reclaim Draco's wand along with his own, yet Draco in this gesture was selfless. Feeling horrible, Harry held his teacup up as he settled himself under the blanket, patting the supremely soft blanket into place around him.

He hesitantly looked at Draco: the other boy was facing ahead of him with his eyes closed, occasionally opening them to watch his tea slip into his mouth, after which he placed his cup on one knee. Harry could not help his eyes from going over Draco again: he looked so small folded up on his seat, the huge blanket swallowing his meek form, his pale hands delicately holding his cup… His face was puffed up and hair was ruffled – the very first time Harry had seen it ruffled so severely.

The silence lived amidst them like a third companion. It was worse than ever, Draco's calmness and silence. Harry would feel less unsettled if he was certain that Draco resented him at the moment. It would be easier to deal with if he knew that Draco's blood, as it flowed, pulled away from him from Harry's side as a result of that powerful, almost palpable air of repulsion, bitterness, and resentment that had lived between them in the prime of their enmity before they came together. This lack of open blame he could not deal with.

His tea deserted, now bereft of steam, Draco sat still under his blanket. Harry was absorbed in his thoughts, but he would occasionally surface to study Draco, which would lead to him to attempt to divine whatever Draco was thinking, if he was not asleep – probably hideous swear words for Harry, which would only draw Harry back to his mire of guilty thoughts and the cycle would persist.

Then then voice came out of nowhere: "They followed you, didn't they?"

Jarred back to the present, Harry stayed quiet for several moments before he spoke. "Yeah," he said, "from the Quidditch pitch. They were practicing but we didn't know. Angelina had cancelled our session for me but when I came back from Dumbledore's office Hermione saw that I didn't look too tired so she told Angelina we could still practice. But when we got to the pitch the Slytherins were already there. Those blokes must've spotted Ron and I and then followed us 'cause we kept hearing noises and seeing birds flying from out of nowhere. We—I should've known…"

Draco opened his eyes and wrapped his arms around his knees. "You wanted to see me – again – for the second time today, just like yesterday." If there was any note of chastisement or exasperation in his tone it was Harry's imagination, because Draco remained in a softly detached mood, and that quality would have been a luxury to his flat voice. "What did you want with me then, Harry?"

The conspicuous use of his name simultaneously drove out all doubt from his mind that Draco did blame him and drove in a dagger to his chest. "I—I wanted to ask you if you were still on the Quidditch team."

"I'm not," Draco answered bluntly. "They petitioned for my removal from the team and Severus had accepted it – he had no choice."

The fact that Draco answered his question made it appear all the more inane. "Oh… " Harry said shortly, his face burning hot red from embarrassment.

"Even if I was on the team," Draco continued, "Dumbledore would've taken me off anyway because of their attempts to kill me. You knew that. Was there anything else? You came to ask me one question?"

"And to tell you that I'll be having another meeting today," Harry hastily said in an attempt to make his visit, before it went awry, more credible. "This time with Dumbledore, at midnight. He's going to teach me wandless magic."

Draco nodded. "You decided you wanted to learn it. It will make you stronger."

Harry had expected more drama than that. "I thought you didn't want me to submit to his 'manipulation,'" he shot back almost accusingly, for he was bemused by the painless acceptance of the imminent meeting, which he had been so passionately been against.

Draco shrugged. "If it'll make you capable of protecting me better than how you did tonight then I'm all for it. Never mind you're giving into Dumbledore's conniving. We're talking about lives being lost here, right?"

Harry flushed and appraised his knobbly knees through the green blanket. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be – there was nothing you could have done. You couldn't have overpowered those half-trolls. I mean look at you." Another wave of humiliation turned Harry's face even redder. "And you couldn't have done your raw magic and wandlessly knocked them out in some way or other – you know, scare them off by making the lights flicker or the papers swirl in the air like you did before. You couldn't have done that. No, you only do that when we argue and you can't handle the truth. You only do that when somebody compares you to the Dark Lord. You can't do that when somebody's life's in danger. You can't do that when the person you claim you love is just about to die. No, Harry, you hate the Dark Lord more than you love me."

Tears welled in Harry's eyes. "Draco…" he breathed incredulously, the wind knocked out of him. "You know that's not true."

"Many books say raw magic happens mostly when a witch or wizard feels afraid or anxious or very, very angry," Draco went on, in that same monotonous voice that suggested he had not heard anything Harry had uttered. "So you weren't afraid enough for me, Harry? You weren't angry enough at them for you to unleash your power, a power even Dumbledore is impressed by?"

"Of course I was afraid for you! I—I don't know why I didn't—There wasn't any time—I didn't think about it! I didn't think of my rage as something I could use like that! That's why I want to learn wandless magic, so I can do all those things-"

"There's a difference between raw and wandless magic, Harry," Draco said a little sternly, showing the first signs of vigour.

"But I need wandless magic so I can control my raw magic!"

"You didn't need to be able to control it! All you had to do was just unleash it! They would have went running! they're Slytherins, cowards to the core!"

This return of life in Draco took Harry aback, and he was silenced for a while. He was partially relieved by it: blatant blame he could handle, not the unspoken.

"Well it never crossed my mind, all right? I was in shock! I didn't think it would happen again, that I could lose you again, all right! There was just too much going on! And I was weak – they tortured me with the Cruciatus!" Harry grabbed onto any excuse that flew past his mind against this new, blatant, paining accusation from Draco, anything that would do.

"Oh yes, that's very convenient!" Draco shot back. "You were tortured! You think you've felt torture? The Cruciatus Curse is nothing! Nothing, Potter! I was tortured by the Dark Lord himself under his Tortus Curse! The Tortus Curse is ten times what the Cruciatus is! So don't you dare tell me about torture! I could've taken ten Cruciatus Curses and still thought about who mattered to me the most and tried to protect him!"

"You could barely move! What are you talking about?" Harry screeched. By this time the blanket was slipping to the floor and revealing both their nudity. "You were lying on that bed and you could hardly move your face! I had to roll us off the bed onto the floor under my Invisibility Cloak! You only woke up after you heard Voldemort call your name!"

Draco flinched. "That's beside the point!" He caught the blanket and yanked it back up over his legs, and Harry levelled his cup just in time before it spilled onto it. "You still didn't do enough to protect me! And you wouldn't even have to if you had just bloody looked back _once_ when you came here and maybe you might've have realized you were being followed! You just came rushing up here with that idiotic grin on your face, sweating like a mad Giffy, thinking 'I'm going to see my precious Draco again and ask him if he's still on the Quidditch pitch and tell him about my meeting with Dumbledore!' Were you that bloody distracted you didn't think at least once to just look behind you? You said you heard sounds and saw strange birds!"

"Fine! You want to blame me, I get it! I-!"

"This is not about blame, this is about me dying! I nearly died, you fuckin' cunt! I was pissing in my pants! The Killing Curse was coming my way! I nearly died, Harry, don't you understand! I nearly died…!"

Harry's throat nearly closed up. "I understand that, Draco, and I'm sorry!" he said hoarsely.

"SORRY DOESN'T SUFFICE! You would've been saying you're sorry at my dead body! You know, you're useless, you know that? I thought I could be safe with you and all your raw magic and being Dumbledore's golden boy and all, but I was wrong! I was stupid to think I could escape him! He wants me dead and all this won't stop until it happens…!" A surprising sob came from Draco's lips and his grey eyes turned silvery. "I can't escape him. I was stupid to hope. You can't run away from the Dark Lord… Why am I blaming you…?" Draco slumped back in his chair.

This sudden change in mood threw Harry off, and he stared wordlessly at the other boy. His own chest was still inflated with reserved air ready to supply his next argument as soon as Draco finished his own. But Draco looked far from arguing, and his next words came out in that same flat and monotonous tone he had used before.

"They want me dead. They want to kill me… my family… mother, father…" He shook his head and dropped it onto his knees. "It's over," he whispered at them. "I told you, I'm done… They won't rest until they finally kill me… I'll never be safe. No one can protect me… You can't protect me."

Harry sighed and his chest finally deflated, releasing all his readiness to argue. "I'm sorry, Draco…" It was the very thing of which he was so ashamed tonight. "I should have known. I should have been more careful. I knew the Slytherins were after you, I nearly saw you die in the Great Hal. And then today, they were looking at us. And now I nearly lost you again, even after Dumbledore moved you from the dungeons. I led them back here to you anyways, and I couldn't—I couldn't do anything to protect you. You would've been… You never would've…"

His eyes were drawn to the gaping hole left on Draco's wall where Fauss Killing Curse had struck, and the rest of his words and his tearful, green eyes were lost into Draco's face as Draco turned to him. His face was flat and heavy once more as though their heated argument never took place, as though it were confineable in a bubble of its own and left to float away.

"I thought you loved me." The flat grey eyes swam.

A stab to his heart, and Harry nearly gasped. "I—I do…" Harry breathed, gaping, staring incredulously at Draco, hurt by the accusation.

"We don't lead the enemy to the people we love, Harry."

And there it was. Harry merely stared wordlessly at Draco, his eyes shining with unshed tears. In his mind Cedric's hollow face briefly fell upon Draco's.

"But I can't blame you for my problems," Draco said hollowly, staring into the distance. "You're not the one the Dark Lord is after. This is all because of me. He wants me, and my family. My father decided to defy him the moment he decided to save me from him. I was the one who failed in the beginning – that's why he punished me the way he did. And then I angered him when… that second time in his quarters… I angered him, and he punished me. I'm to blame for everything. If only I could have cast the Cruciatus Curse on the wandmaker things wouldn't have turned out as they did. If only I had practiced harder, studied harder…"

"No, Draco, it's not your fault," Harry said. He refused to be relieved of his blame now and have that blame put on Draco for the redeeming reason that he was not evil enough to cast an Unforgivable. Fauss' words, _"You can't do a bloody Unforgivable and you wanted to be a Death Eater?"_ echoed in his mind, and he recalled feeling a vague glimmer of pride in Draco for this 'weakness'. "It's not your fault Voldemort is out for your blood and your families-"

"It's mine, Harry…." Draco insisted, and Harry mourned that brief surge of life that had ignited in Draco only to be replaced by this doleful resignation. "Father tried to teach me ever since I could walk. He said as early as then that I had to be prepared for when the Dark Lord returned, to be able to join the ranks and stand beside him when they would gather once again. And he did return as Father promised, and I did stand beside him when they gathered, and I failed to torture the wandmaker. He punished me by making me a sex slave-"

"Draco, don't-" Harry said, cutting across Draco. He loathed associating him with these kinds of atrocities.

"-I was meant to service all the Death Eaters, one by one," Draco continued as though uninterrupted. "But Father, he saved me again. He beseeched the Dark Lord to be lenient, and the Dark Lord was: he made me a rent pet only to him. I got what I deserved for failing my father. And now the Dark Lord is angry – Fauss said he was. I've disappointed him thrice, and the Dark Lord knows no mercy, Harry. If he wishes for my death, then it will so be – there's nothing I can do…"

"Yes there is! You just have to stay away from him! Dumbledore will relocate you again! Maybe he'll move you to his own quarters! No one can touch you there! No one! Draco, you can't blame yourself for this! You can't think it's your fault because you didn't pass this ultimate test your father had been preparing you for! It's not your fault you're not evil, Draco! I'm the one who couldn't stop Fauss and his gang! You blame me, remember? I'm the one who-"

"I thought you'd be able to somehow protect me," Draco continued, as though he had not heard a single word of Harry's. "Father had told me you escaped the Dark Lord immediately after his resurrection. You were Harry Potter, known to defy all the odds. You survived him when you were just a baby – they're at least fifty books that say so in the Malfoy library… But I can't escape from him. There's a whole House of Slytherins ready to do his bidding, ready to kill me at once. They're all his sycophants, like I was…"

"Draco, listen to me." Extreme desperation was beginning to swallow Harry. "I will get stronger, I promise. I will learn to control my magic and no one will mess with us. I will protect you, and Dumbledore will protect you. We'll move you again when he gets back from the Ministry."

"What if Dumbledore doesn't survive the Ministry? What if they kill him? That one hand of his is no good."

"Of course he'll come back. They won't kill him – Dumbledore's easily the most powerful wizard in the world."

Droopy-eyed, Draco studied Harry quietly with his head tilted to the side, a faintly patronizing expression on his face. "Dumbledore's powers are finite," he pointed out dryly.

"Yeah, I know that," Harry replied a little defensively. "But surely they won't – Dumbledore can do all kinds of things with his magic. I saw him making his mug and his quills and papers fly in the air today. He can do wandless magic like crazy. He's powerful. They won't touch him. He'll come back."

"With my wand hopefully."

Harry frowned. "Fauss has your wand? It isn't that bloke Armelo, I think his name was?"

Draco shook his head, still looking at Harry with a surreal expression. "Fauss was the one who Expelled it from my hand when I was about shag you."

Harry hoped his immense relief did not show on his face. "Oh," he said shortly. A few moments of silence passed in which Draco continued to watch him. Not wishing for this to continue, so disconcerted he was, Harry said, "It'll be okay, Draco. Dumbledore will come back from the Ministry with your wand, and maybe we'll move you again. And then at midnight he'll teach me wandless magic and I'll be able to protect you. I'll scare them off the next time they try to come near you. It'll be all right, Draco."

"So there's hope?"

"Definitely," Harry declared, cutting his hand through the air with conviction. Draco looked at him a little longer before he gave him a tiny smile. It vanished so quickly, however, that its appearance seemed a mistake.

"My parents still aren't safe – the Death Eaters might find one of their Unplottable villas."

"Where are your parents hiding?" Harry asked conversationally, his chest suddenly opening as he grew lighter as though he had returned from a drawn-out, bone-wearing battle: he was officially off the offensive, which was validated by Draco's smile, as miniscule it was.

"Across all of Europe basically – four of them. They could be in any one of them."

"There you go. So there's nothing to worry about. Your parents are at any one of those places and all of them are Unplottable. They don't have a hope in hell of finding them."

"We don't know what the Dark Lord's capable of, Harry," Draco chided softly.

Harry kept quiet in resignation. But the silence that ensued was not as tense as its predecessors.

Then out of nowhere Draco gave a short burst of laughter. He seemed to gather himself before another bout of laughter stole him which started his quiet, tearful fit of chuckles. Harry stared at him, puzzled, watching Draco's body being wracked with his unannounced and unwarranted amusement. He reeled from Draco's fluctuating moods.

"I just realized something," Draco wheezed tremulously, when he deigned to explain his behaviour, though he was struggling to squeeze the words out of his lungs. "'We don't know what the Dark Lord is capable of.' He ran to the Apparition chamber!"

Harry smiled as he continued to stare at a pink-faced Draco curiously, his own lips twitching, anxious to join Draco in mirth, but he still had not clue as to what Draco was laughing about. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"He ran to the Apparition chamber! The Dark Lord! Actually, actually-" Draco struggled to breathe. "-He had to run to the Apparition chamber and Disapparate from there just like everybody else!"

Harry still did not get it, and there was a sliver of worry at the back of his mind about Draco's actions. "What?" he asked again. His whole body was prepared: his abdominals were contracted, his lips were quivering, his lungs were inflated again and ready to expel their air to enable his burst into laughter as well the moment Draco made sense.

Draco blinked away his tears and held his stomach, his entire face flushed, tears leaking out from the corners of his eyes. "The Dark Lord – a lord – forced to Disapparate from the chamber like his very minions...! He also has to abide to the magic of the manor...! He's the Dark Lord, Harry, he shouldn't be limited like that! Forced to act like everyone else…!"

"I don't understand," Harry said, growing a little exasperated, begging to join Draco in merriment.

"Dumbledore appeared out of nowhere into the hallway, remember? Why can't the Dark Lord do the same? Why can't he Apparate and Disapparate at any point in the manor? I never thought of it before! What more can he be capable of if he can't do something as simple as appearing and disappearing?" Seeing that Harry remained puzzled and bereft of a clue, Draco continued, "Don't worry, Harry, you won't understand." He wiped tears from his eyes. "The Dark Lord, my rapist. His power is finite too. The irony…" Draco smiled quietly and looked down at the drop of tears he was rubbing between his fingers.

"So no one can Apparate or Disapparate from anywhere in the manor except in the Apparition chamber?" he enquired.

"Yes. The manor was built that way. It had always been like that. It has ancient magic everywhere. It's very old."

"So you're laughing because Voldemort also had to abide to that ancient magic?"

"Yes. I've never thought of the Dark Lord as limited like that. But when he ran away from Dumbledore like that, and to the one place where he could escape. I don't know how Dumbledore did it, and I don't know how the others arrived – Moody and Lupin and my niece and that tall bloke..."

"Oh, Dobby brought them there."

For a moment Draco seemed to want to continue to explain his amusement before he fell froze. "Dobby? Dobby was the one who brought them there? …That would explain that one pop, but… You know Dobby?"

Harry nodded, fighting to stave off his grin. "Yeah. He works in the kitchens. I visited him just the day before."

Draco's eyes popped wide open. "Come again?"

Harry smiled. In a clipped voice, he reiterated, "I went to go visit him in the kitchens, where he works with the other elves to make our meals. But the only difference is that he gets paid for it." It was nice to have the advantage once in a while and make the other person feel like a fool.

Draco gaped at Harry, shocked. "Dobby's here? In this castle?" Harry nodded, and he let his grin loose. Draco stared incredulously at him. "Father just told me he had had enough of the cursed little thing and threw it away. That was three years ago… How the pixies do you know his name? How did you meet him? Don't tell me you and your sidekicks snuck down to the kitchens under your Invisibility Cloak and called it an adventure in another instalment of _The Golden Boy and Company_."

The return of Draco's drawling derision was so much welcomed Harry grinned even wider. He explained how he tricked his father into freeing Dobby and being the elf's favourite person ever since.

"You mean my father didn't let him go?"

"No, Draco," Harry replied dryly, the picture of a proud and arrogant Lucius flashing past his mind. Of course he would not tell his son he was tricked. But then expression morphed into one of hurt pride as Lucius commanded his son to beg for an allegiance with Dumbledore. "Your father didn't release him willingly. I did it 'cause I saw how badly he treated Dobby – he was kicking him and beating him with that cane of his."

"Right," Draco said as he shrugged nonchalantly as though such treatment of elves was not a serious issue. "Yeah, he never liked them, house-elves. 'Draco, if you wish for a brother to be kind towards you could have asked for one. You needn't treat mere elves them like you're one of their kind. You're superior, you're a Malfoy. Did you practice your Cruciatus Curse on them today?'"

Harry thought it was a brilliant imitation of Malfoy's unimpressed drawl. They were so alike, father and son. "And then you'd chase them around the mansion and make them black with that spell you invented. It was the Tusho Curse, wasn't it?"

Draco stared at him wordlessly, his grey eyes illuminated in his astonishment. Harry raised his eyebrow, a grin ready to burst from the strip of teeth behind his twitching lips. But it was Draco who first exploded into hysteria. Where he had been left behind when Draco had enjoyed his fit of laughter while struggling to explain to Harry about Voldemort's limitations, Harry finally came aboard on this occasion. Draco titled forward in his chair and covered his stomach; he was laughing so hard his eyes disappeared behind his shrivelled eyelids.

"Dobby told…" Draco said weakly as waves of laughter ravaged him and nearly rendered him unable to speak. "I can't belie…"

"_Tusho!_" Harry screeched as his chest heaved uncontrollably. His incantation launched Draco into the stratosphere as he wheezed with the lungs of a dying man. "Instant black!" Harry ploughed on. Draco laughed voicelessly and stomped his chest to induce resumption of breathing as Harry watched him through squinted, tearful eyes. It was the second time Harry laughed at this joke and at his own words, yet he was laughing harder than ever.

This went on for a few more minutes before either boy felt competent again to attempt speech. "How come Dobby told you that about me?" Draco chuckled.

Harry shook his head. "I asked him. I wanted to know how you were raised, how you were like when you were younger."

Draco nodded, still smiling. "Yeah, I used to do that… The Tusho Curse…" He shook his head, grinning. Harry was rather proud of his invention of the name. "I want to see him," Draco declared suddenly.

"Oh," said Harry in tone of surprise. His smile fell. "You wanna see Dobby?"

Draco nodded. "He was the one house-elf I liked. I hate the others for reasons I can't even remember. You could say he was my friend. He used to play with me in the garden and make me laugh with his magic tricks. We played games like hide 'n seek. It was never hard to find _him_; I always did in the end somehow. Maybe it was those big ears of his that gave him away. Or maybe he let me win. I don't know."

Harry listened quietly. What Draco was saying was nearly priceless. How else could an occasion arise when Draco spoke of his childhood? How many of them could there be.

"He also used to magic my toy broom so that it did these spectacular moves in the air, moves I couldn't dream of doing at that age. We called the game Jinxie-Joom – well, Jinx the Broom if I could pronounce it properly at the time. One time when Dobby made my toy broom do a Trunder Sweep I fell and broke my leg and didn't see Dobby for, like, a week. When I did see him again he wasn't the same elf. He was – I don't know – darker somehow, smaller. His eyes didn't shine as much, and I think he stooped a little… I don't know what Father did to him."

Harry frowned as the hairs on the back of his nose rose. He continued listening.

"The last time I saw him, I think, was just before we headed to the Apparition chamber to go to King's Cross for second year. He came running down the hallway to bring me my _Quidditch of the Connoisseur_ book. In front of my father I told him he should've made certain it was in my trunk before I took it and then I kicked him a few times."

"Did he understand that you had to do it?" Harry asked anxiously.

"Oh yeah, he did, and he acted very convincingly. He knew I had to act a certain way around my father. Well, everyone did. The house-elves shrink away whenever he enters like some Azen meeting."

Harry had a true-colour picture of this scene: Lucius striding into the manor, his dark robes fluttering behind him, his snake cane held aloft in his hand, where he was certain was a family ring on. The atmosphere would suddenly contract: the elves rush to set the table and prepare the mansion. Draco quickly gathers himself, standing taller, lifting his chin, and assumes an imperious glint in his eyes as befit a Malfoy. But when Harry came to Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mother, his imagination stalled. How would the lady of the manor react?

"I don't like your father," Harry said honestly, barely stopping a sneering note from entering his voice.

Draco gave a sad, drooping sort of smirk. "Not many do but they are forced to – he's got power, influence."

Harry really did not wish to offend Draco here; the air between them was as open and springy as ever, so he kept his mouth shut even though a few opinions hung on his tongue. "Your father hates your looks?" he burst out in disgust, losing the fight against the urge of one opinion to free-fall out his mouth.

Draco turned to him with a guarded look and said nothing for a moment. His eyes shifted in and out of focus, looking at him and then staring through him into the distance as though his thoughts were entertained in the air between him and Harry. "You heard Fauss, I'm not a model heir. Fathers want their sons to be tall, lean, broad and all that. I think he thinks I'm too soft or feminine or something." Draco grimaced as though the disgrace of his body brought him physical pain. He folded his arms and moved his legs around self-consciously. "It's what got me into this mess in the first place."

Harry frowned. "Wait, I thought you said it was because you couldn't do the Cruciatus Curse on some wandmaker... Wait, you had to curse Ollivander?" he said loudly as the thought suddenly occurred to him. "It was Mr Ollivander you had to curse, wasn't it? The Death Eaters kidnapped him and Voldemort made you torture him?" Harry recalled the article in the _Daily Prophet_ about the circumstances surrounding Mr Ollivander's murder.

"Yes," answered Draco, nodding. "I raised my wand at his face and I said the spell but it didn't come – I was too scared. The Dark Lord said I was weak. And Macnair…" A scowl of repulsion twisted Draco's features. "…That Macnair… He said I was 'pretty' and he jumped me-"

"He said you were _pretty_ and he jumped you? In front of everyone?" exclaimed Harry, scandalized. "Where was your father in all of this?"

"He couldn't just come out and save me – the Dark Lord was watching. And the Dark Lord doesn't care about fatherly feelings. He let Macnair go on with it."

Harry made an indistinct sound at the back of his throat. "What did Macnair do to you?" he almost afraid to ask.

"He tore my clothes off." Harry made a sudden movement. "Father came over and told him to get off of me. The Dark Lord said he could continue-"

"Tell me he didn't do anything to you." Harry begged, fighting to keep from cringing. He could not bear to hear that Draco was defiled more times than he was aware of. He only just stopped himself from pushing his fingers into his ears in a very immature fashion.

"He didn't. The Dark Lord declared my punishment soon after for failing to cast the Cruciatus Curse on the wandmaker and then they left laughing."

Harry sighed in relief. He found a new hatred for this Macnair Death Eater.

"Macnair was the one who broke your wand," Draco told Harry.

Even more reason to hate him. "The one with the eye patch?" Draco nodded. Harry shook his head and looked away, elevating Macnair on his list of people to straighten out as soon as he mastered wandless magic.

"After the gathering Father took me to his room and basically stripped me in front of the mirror," Draco went on in an almost lifeless voice. "Fauss got most of the 'flaws' he mentioned right: long hair…" Draco limply weaved his hand through his white-blond locks. "My height, my lips, my hands…" Draco held up his hands, holding them up next to each other side and looked down at them dispassionately. He let them fall to his lap. "I've tried so many times to cut my hair but it keeps growing back no matter what I do."

"Maybe you don't really want to cut it," Harry offered. "You told me magic and mind have a close relationship."

Draco nodded, a small smile curving his lips. "I think I really don't want to cut it too. Mother always wanted to show me off to her tea friends and that should have been motivation enough to cut it. I think you're right – I need to cut it for the right reasons. Mother was always against it when Father asked Tibby or Dobby to cut it whenever I did it and it grew back. But then it'd grow back the next day anyway."

"That also happened to me: Aunt Petunia cut it off and the next day it grew back even messier." Harry relished this commonality he shared with Draco after growing frustrated with how much Draco and Hermione had in common when Hermione was not the one in love with him.

Draco seemed surprised by what Harry had shared. His eyes flicked over to Harry's hair before he drawled, "And I wonder for what reason she wanted to."

Harry grinned as he ruffled his unkempt hair, making it stand every which way and leaving it in a worse state. Draco rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Harry sobered up quickly. "But isn't your height his own fault? I mean, he married a pretty short woman."

"He had no choice – he had to marry her, so it's no one's fault."

Another chill ran up Harry's spine. He really had no love for these pureblood traditions. He thought them freaky. He did not bother persisting with Draco's hands.

"Harry, what happened back there, when they made us shag? Was I really that bad? You bloody dozed off. I mean I haven't been in action since term started, I admit I might've gone rusty or something."

"What? Oh, I Occluded my mind. I didn't want to feel it. I wanted our first time…" Draco raised his eyebrow. Harry blushed. "…To be special," he finished in a pathetic mutter.

Draco nodded slowly and looked impressed. "So you had planned our first time? Wow."

"No," Harry said quickly, blushing harder. "I just didn't want it to be ruined."

Draco nodded again sceptically. "So you've dreamed about us having sex?"

"No!" Harry squawked. Wishing to take the attention away from him, he demanded, "How many girls have you been with?"

This visibly took Draco by surprise, and he took a few moments to answer. "Er, well, I didn't really take count."

Coming straight from the horse's mouth, Harry inwardly went crestfallen. It irrefutably confirmed Draco was not a virgin. He had suspected this after Parvati's and Fauss' reference to the term Slytherin Sex something and the allusions to Draco's extracurricular activities made by Fauss and the other Slytherins a few minutes ago. But he had still hoped for a glimmer of this kind of naivety in Draco after Voldemort had forcibly taken a large part of it. It now had him thinking about Draco's promiscuity. He stared at the Slytherin expectantly, waiting for an answer. He wanted to know exactly how experienced Draco was.

"Give me an approximate figure," Harry said loftily, trying to hide the significance of the question from his face.

Draco shook his head and did not know what to say. "I don't know… Four years' bunnychow…"

Harry kept staring. Draco kept shaking his head. "Over fifty?" Harry held back a wince.

"Possibly."

"Fifty?" exclaimed Harry. "Fifty fifty? As in five, zero?"

"Potter, not all of us are as chaste as you. Some of us wish to experience life."

"'Experience life.' Is that what they call it these days? Wouldn't your father, like, disapprove of it?" Harry accused. He still felt very small in front of Draco right now after learning of the scope of his then promiscuity. "I mean, you can get girls pregnant and with this bollocks pureblood tradition and all…"

"That's why we shag them in the arse only," Draco pointed out. "Unless you want to stick your wand up her cunt and shoot a Contraception Charm up there each time you wanna do it but I don't recommend that. Some smells, suffice it to say, just don't go away."

Harry said nothing, recoiling slightly, feeling somehow offended as though the mention of the female sexual organ had defaced their conversation. Now, if there was room for possibility that he might not be entirely homosexual it was gone now. Repulsed by the mere mention of the word?

"My father didn't know I slept around. If he did…" Draco trailed off. "And if he found out about you and me…"

"He'd disown you?" Harry finished for him, recalling Armelo's words.

Something a little like fear whipped past Draco's face. "That's too drastic," he said at once, his tone indecipherable. "He'll punish me but I don't think he'll go that far."

"Yeah, he needs you, right? To continue the Malfoy bloodline?" Harry asked encouragingly.

Draco made an assenting noise. "I'm his only heir, and I'm his son."

Harry was not too confident in the security of the latter title at first before but images swam into his mind of Lucius sweeping Draco off his feet when he staggered, telling his son to beg for sanctuary from Dumbledore, saying – and Harry had not believed him – that he was doing everything in his power in Draco's plight. And he thought he should perhaps concede some credit to Draco's father. He had underestimated Lucius's love for his son, not least because the man appeared so cold on the outside.

There was silence for a while. Then Harry suddenly remembered something. "So when they had Mr Ollivander, it was at Malfoy Manor?"

Draco nodded. "We held him down in the dungeons. The Dark Lord wanted him to tell him about the Elder Wand. He stayed down there for about a month before they finally killed him when he was of no use to the Dark Lord."

"Did he tell him about the Elder Wand?" Harry asked him, recalling Dumbledore telling him about Lucius revealing that Voldemort was searching for this particular wand.

"I don't know," Draco replied. "I don't know what happened down there with him – Father never tells me much about their meetings."

"Well he won't get the Elder Wand anyway, because-"

"Because Dumbledore has the Elder Wand," Draco finished, wonderment lighting his eyes. "You know, that's why you could speak to Dumbledore when you were supposed to be under Fauss' Silencing Charm, remember? The Elder Wand is superior like that, threw the previous spell completely off." There was a childish gleam to Draco's eyes that amused Harry. "The things they say that wand can do… I read about it in books when I was young I asked Mr Ollivander about it too whenever I had to go to the dungeons to practice my Unforgivables. He was very entertaining, Mr Ollivander. We became close. He'd tell me interesting things, though he was a little on the snappy side – impatient, he gets, sometimes."

Harry laughed.

"What?" Draco asked, sounding defensive.

"Nothing," Harry replied, containing himself. "So you read stories about the Elder Wand. You said there were books about me too?" He felt flattered that Draco read about him as he grew up and a picture intruded into his mind: a six-year-old Draco dressed in black cashmere pyjamas lying on the floor in a random room, his legs up in the air with his ankles crossed, smiling down at a thin book opened on a page vaguely bearing the dubious title of 'Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived' with a large photo of a boy about his age with a shock of jet-black hair crowning a brow across of which a lightning-bolt-shaped scar zigzagged.

Then his mind ran away with this image and manipulated it so that Draco's smile broadened as he stared into the green eyes of the boy and traced the paper features of his face with long pale fingers. His mind more playful still, Draco bit his lips chastely, swooped down and kissing the photo on the lips and when Draco tries to pull back the page sticks to his lips. Draco pushes the page down, laughing at himself and beaming down at Harry. Then Lucius bursts into the room and growls, 'I don't expect my son to be kissing pictures of faraway non-legendries! Especially male ones! You're disowned!'

"Of course, Potter. You're everywhere," Draco drawled, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Although in a lot of – let's say books that shrink away from the daylight – your survival is downplayed: they don't show it for the miracle many believe it is, and they make excuses for the Dark Lord's death. But you're still everywhere. I've read about you ever since I was small, and I wanted to meet you someday. I couldn't wait for it. Then, of course, that day finally came and, well, it didn't go as well as was expected and then we started hating each other from then on."

"Hate is a strong word," Harry said softly.

"Oh trust me, I hated you. Couldn't you have said the same for me?"

Harry was quiet for a moment as he considered this but then shrugged. Indeed he remembered that deep loathing that would overcome him whenever he caught sight of gelled white-blond hair, or a tall smirk, or pale skin. It just ignited so quickly and so powerfully he thought Draco was just pretending he was not feeling his burning waves of hatred every time they faced each other.

"And now you love me?"

Harry was wrenched out of his thoughts and rather mercilessly thrust into an embarrassing moment. He blushed in what he thought was dignified silence.

Draco giggled at him. "Do you love me now, Harry?"

Harry still did not answer.

"Harry," Draco sang in that beautiful tenor of his, "do you love me?"

"You know, Draco, those words aren't just meant to be tossed about like that – they're serious," Harry told him stiffly.

Draco giggled a few more times before he sobered up and assumed a serious demeanour. "Do you love me?"

"You know my answer."

"I like to hear it. I've never heard it so often before – makes me feel good, tingly. Tell me you love me, Harry."

Harry blinked profusely, beetroot-red in the face as he reeled from the rare and blatant honesty in them, something with which he did not associate Draco, whom he had always known as an enigma, as always something to be figured out. So this public statement of his feeling was something he was not used to and found it rather unnerving.

"Er, I love you," he declared in a slightly dazed but extremely awkward fashion. The entire world might as well have been in that room, so self-conscious he felt right then.

Draco gave a comical shiver and smiled, closing his eyes. Harry huffed in irritation and pushed him away indignantly.

"You're something else, you know that, Potter?" Draco giggled. "I've never heard of anyone falling in love with someone because they're a rape victim – and in five days, no less."

This flippancy annoyed Harry, who felt stung. How can Draco label himself as a 'rape victim' so casually? And how can he mock his feelings towards him?

"Show me you love me, Harry."

Harry recoiled and licked his lips. "How?" Perhaps licking his lips may have been presumptuous in retrospect.

"Show me your love me more than you hate the Dark Lord: do wandless magic – it turns me on."

_What on this here Merlin's sweet earth is he smoking?_ Harry was astounded and confused, unable to fathom what was going on with Draco at the moment, why he was saying the things he was saying, and singing his name and what have you not. "I—I—I've never—I don't think I can do it with _love_," he spluttered. "It has to be like a very strong fee-" _Fuck_. Harry stopped himself before he dug himself even deeper into a hole.

"Isn't love a strong feeling?" Draco asked swiftly.

"Yes but I've never tried it with-"

"Then try it now."

Harry stared at Draco wordlessly. "I-"

"Concentrate. Concentrate your love for me, Harry. Then release it."

Bewildered beyond anything at this bizarre request, Harry could do nothing but stare incredulously at Draco. "Okay…" He agreed more to keep Draco happy than that he felt capable of performing the feat. He closed his eyes warily and very self-consciously.

"What do you think about when you're angry at the Dark Lord?" he heard Draco's bodiless voice say.

"Um, all the bad things he's done and how he wants to threaten the people I'm close to."

There was silence for a moment. Then Harry heard, "Okay, think about the good things then… How I make you feel. Intensify that feeling! Or something!"

Draco's voice came across to Harry as one from an over-excited and experimental little boy. He decided to play along. He tried to concentrate on how Draco made him feel from every angle to this. But no matter how hard he scrunched his buttocks or fisted his hands or how hard he grew he could not make anything happen to be followed by Draco's impressed voice. He opened his eyes.

Draco raised his eyebrows and arms inquiringly.

"I told you it's not the same-"

"It is the same!" Draco insisted passionately. "Love is the opposite of hate, and if you can do it with hate then you can do it with love! Come on!"

Harry sighed, shaking his head exasperatedly, but shut his eyes again. Draco watched his face avidly. But after a few minutes of inaction he became irked once more. "Potter, nothing's happening!"

Harry opened his eyes. "Well I told you it's not the same and it wouldn't work."

Draco narrowed his own eyes and was silent for a moment. "You know, Harry, Slytherins are very simple-minded, rather like animals: you court your mate and beat all the other competition, then you can have her. This – you showing me wandless magic, which I said turns me on – is your way of courting me. I can't come cheap, Harry – it wouldn't be fitting of a Slytherin or a Malfoy."

"So you expect me to show you my raw magic so I can have you? Why now? Don't I have you already?"

"Not fully, no."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Whatever it means."

Harry stared at Draco, at the chin haughtily inclined, the grey eyes proud, the arms folded expectantly. Draco was not serious, was he? This idea seemed to have started out as an impulse but now appeared to have captured Draco.

"So I have to impress you in order to have you fully?"

"Yes. I did say it turns me on, right? I was being completely honest, I didn't hold back. Now you know that, which plays to my disadvantage, lucky for you. Plus, I will say those three words back to you."

It took Harry a moment to figure out what Draco was referring to, and the words rang out and blocked out everything that happened before it. Three words…

"Okay," Harry said very carefully and raising his eyebrow sceptically to disguise the immense impact Draco's words had on him. He still remained astonished that Draco could treat feelings like something to barter. He concluded that Slytherins were not terribly sentimental and he should not be too surprised to learn of emotional trading. He scrunched his eyes shut yet again, though now infinitely more motivated, and tried to think about something that would give him the strongest feeling of affection for Draco.

Draco waited with bated breath at the other end, his eyes gleaming, wide, ready to experience the pure power of raw magic.

Nothing happened. For several minutes Harry sat there with his eyes closed and his brow creased in concentration, and the light in Draco's eyes slowly dimmed with every passing second. Finally Harry sighed and opened his eyes, clearly frustrated. "I told you it wouldn't work – it's just not the same."

"Well then," Draco announced in that tone which told Harry danger was ahead, "that's a disappointment." Draco tilted his head to one side and regarded Harry swiftly. "I'm tired, I'd like to go to bed. Oh but first a bath – I'm all sticky."

_Wait, was that a dismissal?_ "Oh, come on, Draco-"

"I'm not coming on anything."

"Are you serious?"

"As wandburn, Potter."

"You're being silly. You're kicking me out because I can't impress you? Because I can't turn you on?"

Draco flushed. Telling Harry raw magic turned him on was perhaps a lapse of judgement on his part. "Precisely. Now get out," he rapped.

Harry stared at Draco. For the first time he was unimpressed by him. This was immature, he thought, and he remembered Draco occasionally forgetting himself and slurping his tea. Then Harry's eyes shot down to the vivid, fantastically green-coloured blanket with the fat, fire-spitting dragon. Then he recalled Draco's face lighting up with childish excitement when he spoke of the Elder Wand. Draco suddenly shrunk in his eyes to the height of an eight-year-old who happened to be more intelligent than him.

"Out, Potter."

"And I can come back whenever I'm ready to turn you on?"

Draco's cheeks grew pink again. "Maybe," he said tightly through a clenched jaw.

Harry took a few further few moments to gaze at Draco in disbelief, fighting with all his might to keep from laughing, to stay disappointed at Draco. "What if Armelo and the rest of them come back?"

"They won't – they were terrified when Dumbledore stormed in. I'm quite certain they won't be making a return visit. Well, except for Blaise…" Draco allowed a few mysterious moments to pass before he insisted, "So please, leave."

"Why would Blaise come?" Harry asked, bemused.

"He's my friend. A very, very good friend…"

Harry paused for a few seconds before he burst into raucous laughter and actually pointed a finger at Draco. "You're trying to make me jealous! I can't believe this! Blaise's a pureblood, he can't be gay!" Harry confidently recalled Hermione's words: _"Homosexuality in the Wizarding world is extremely taboo… Even more so than in the Muggle world…" _He was pleasantly astonished that Draco could stoop this low in desperation. This superior high ground of sorts he had assumed made him feel mature somehow. The idea that he could make Draco try to make him jealous was an extraordinary breakthrough – an extraordinary, wonderful breakthrough.

"I was described as pretty, right? Feminine?" Draco said a little bitterly. "I think that should suffice, apart from my natural charm, of course."

Harry's amusement faltered. "You're not feminine! You're a bloke! You're not pretty, you're handsome!" That was how it was supposed to be, right? Women were pretty and men were handsome, right? Men cannot be pretty, he decided, unlike what Macnair thought.

"Well either way I'm still attractive," Draco blustered. "And Blaise may be sharp-minded but he isn't the most strong-willed of people – Fauss and them nearly figured him out when he came up with the idea for me to shag you instead of the other way around."

Harry went quiet. Draco raised his eyebrow.

"You don't like him," Harry declared as his last line of defence.

"I can be anything I need to be, Harry. That is what a Slytherin does – he does what is necessary to survive or achieve a goal. Adaptation – you learn it early on."

Harry stared wordlessly at Draco. "I can't just leave you alone after what nearly happened to you," he tried to reason alternatively.

"I don't have to remind you whose fault that was."

"Oh so you blame me again?"

"You're not starting that argument again, Potter. Good evening!"

"Fine!" Harry shot back, flung off the blanket, grabbed his wand and threw on his clothes, the image of Draco smiling down at his picture in a book still sizzling in his mind. He was out of the door in his Quidditch robes in another few seconds. Before he closed it, the portrait of the mermaid shaved his eye and he turned towards it. He forced himself to find the gratitude at her within himself after stomping out of Draco's room in white heat because above all he was still grateful that prick behind the door was still alive, which was entirely thanks to the portrait at which he was staring. So he smiled convincingly up at it and said, "Thank you, mermaid, for calling Dumbledore – you saved our lives."

For the first time ever the mermaid gave him a different expression: still holding her wet dark hair, she tilted her head to one side and smiled down at him. Harry smiled back before he was accosted by a wild impulse. He threw the door open and hollered into the room, "I love you and you know that!" He shut the door before he could give Draco a chance to respond and skipped away happily into the nippy evening towards Gryffindor Tower.


	30. Relocation

**Chapter 30**

**Relocation**

In stark contrast to the leaden silence that had fallen upon the common room in his earlier return, when Harry dropped in from the portrait hole at fifteen minutes to eight o'clock with a harassed-looking Draco Malfoy in tow, there was instant uproar: hisses and mutters flew from mouth to ear, fingers were pointed, mouths were covered and hands slapped neighbouring shoulders to attention.

Dean's and Seamus's jaws clattered on the crimson carpet, Parvati's arm slowly found Lavender's shoulders and embraced them for she looked pale and about to faint, and Crookshanks bounced between the floor and Draco's floating belongings, clawing and hissing at them.

But amidst this all, all that pierced Harry horribly was the disbelieving voice of Ron as he gasped, "Oh you're bloody shitting me…" And he felt just a little bit lonelier. He looked away from him as well as Hermione, who appeared frozen in her couch and whose face was quite blank, and concentrated on Draco, crossing his arms and tightly clutching his wand, finding himself in unknown and likely hostile Gryffindor territory.

"Come on," Harry whispered to him. And burning in the face, he marched stiffly and very quickly towards the stairs with Draco, careful not to catch any of the eyes in the common room and fixed his gaze on the steps over which he now climbed. As if to complete the awkward scene there came the unmistakable flash of a camera. It was decidedly the most embarrassing moment all year for Harry, and it was with infinite relief that he shut the door behind them after the last of Draco's luggage hovered inside the boys' dormitory and Crookshanks streamed out back into the common room.

"That was a nice welcome party," Draco remarked as he regarded the gold and crimson accents of the dormitory disdainfully. While he seemed utterly unperturbed – even flippant – about what they had just gone through, Harry was devastated by it. And it hurt so much more because neither Ron nor Hermione nor any other fellow Gryffindors that were more than acquaintances to him bothered to throw him a smile or thumbs-up of support. In that moment, as he stood at the door with one hand on the doorknob and glaring at Draco, he realized he was looking at his only future. He was looking at the entirety of his destiny. That the person at whom he now glared was largely all he had to look forward to.

And he had fought for what stood in front of him now: he had fought for Draco's affection; he had fought to have to him, fought to have this moment. He should be happy – it was exactly what he had been wishing for, was it not? But still able to catch the muffled mumbles that rumbled below them from the common room, Harry shivered from the mere recollection of their loathing, disgusted eyes, their pointing, and their hushed tones only seconds prior. Was it worth it ultimately? Was Draco worth it? To feel this isolated from everyone else except Draco?

"Well, we should be getting used to it," Harry snapped, and he found himself surprised with the amount of dread and sadness that burgeoned in his chest. Indeed they would have to get used to it, he thought, recalling a similar reaction of the entire school to the both of them only that morning in the Great Hall. And he also thought Draco was thinking along the same lines, for Harry caught what was supposed to be a furtive side-glance from him. But Draco swiftly made as though he had heard nothing at all and continued to stroll around the round dormitory in inspection.

"So this is what I'm reduced to…" Harry heard Draco harrumph. The Gryffindor was not inclined to listen to more of Draco's rants about his injustices to follow up those he made loudly on their way to Gryffindor Tower. He started to pack to Draco's things, pushing his two floating trunks and owl cage through the air and dropping it onto his own. One trunk held his clothes and the other his stationery (he had advised Draco against bringing along his armoire and escritoire as they would not have any space, whereupon Draco, who seconds prior had been very close to kissing him for reuniting him with his wand, had gone on a fit and a brief but no less heated argument had followed).

While Harry sweated under his Quidditch robes to organize his own stuff, Draco was quite content to stand by the window and look out of it with his arms folded across his chest. Itchy with sweat, Harry fell onto his bed, the air in his lungs lazily expelled as he sighed with the total exhaustion from dealing with Draco's unreasonably massive trunks and the entire protracted and eventful day.

As he slouched on his bed and stared at Draco's back as the Slytherin watched the waning dusk, even the appeal in Draco eluded him; he could not figure out why he thought it was worth it. And all the reasons and justifications became distorted and blurred. He blinked. Sighing, he fought away his sickening sense of disillusionment and had opened his mouth to say something he had not exactly worked out when he was fortunately spared the effort and Draco spoke.

"Dumbledore really didn't tell you how long I have to be here?" asked Draco in what Harry thought was an exaggeratedly woeful voice as though he were speaking of Azkaban itself.

"No," Harry replied harshly, drawing a certain amount of vicious pleasure from saying it. "He didn't say exactly. Just told me to fetch you and move you here."

For someone who had just been kicked out from Draco's room he had been grinning rather ridiculously as he ran for Gryffindor Tower half an hour ago. But with a wince he shortly slowed down as his backside burned slightly. He was thankfully distracted from the pain when a hovering Slytherin-green trunk turning a corner shaved his eye, at which point he, after a second's hesitation, tiptoed speedily and met up with Dumbledore who was escorting Fauss out of the grounds.

It should not have surprised Harry to see Fauss sporting a brilliant silver band of light taping together his wrists: evidently Dumbledore going against his wish not to be so crude as to shackle Fauss had been necessary after, perhaps, Fauss had tried to make a run for it. Though how Fauss expected not to be found by Dumbledore in his own school, Harry could not fathom.

After they stopped by Dumbledore's office for some paperwork and an owl, Harry was only too glad to accompany further towards the school gates. And it could not be plainer that Fauss was vibrating with furious indignation as evinced by his scorching looks at Harry whenever the Gryffindor was careless enough to look his way, something which his eyes were not able to help when the brilliant light of Fauss's handcuffs was so conspicuous.

Even though Harry knew the meeting was set in stone he still was unable to help the temptation of seeking concrete reassurance, especially in light of what had transpired minutes prior.

"I can't wait for tonight, sir. I'm really excited," he remarked slyly, and he was being entirely honest.

Dumbledore looked aside at him and smiled into his face. "And rightly so, Harry. And if I may say, I'm extremely pleased you've had a change of heart. What had done it, incidentally?"

Harry thought Dumbledore already knew the answer to his own question as he had caught him poking in his Pensieve yet again, and not for Dumbledore's dreams. A slew of lies ran through his mind, and he picked the least frilly one. "I just—I just want to learn it, be powerful, like you almost. And like you said, it will help me."

"I'm glad you see my reasoning," Dumbledore said kindly as the drive cackled under their feet. He said nothing further, astounding Harry slightly, but he had other things to say to Dumbledore before he left with Fauss for the Ministry.

From the moment he had the image in his head of Dumbledore's silvery hair swaying across his face and his wand pointed at Fauss, the door vibrating after it collided with the wall, he had bulged with so much pride and gratitude for the man beside him for saving him and Draco that he had grown restless and distracted. He wanted to show his appreciation in a very visible manner but was not able to think of anything fitting to the feat. And so he squirmed with this restless feeling in the silence that had swirled around them as they had descended to the school gate with Fauss. And perhaps it was because of this squirming feeling that the words seemed to swim up his throat by their own volition and lodge at the tip of his tongue, begging for entry into the spoken world.

They drew level to the gate. "Professor," Harry said finally, surprising himself. But the promise he had made to himself in that classroom standing with Ron and Hermione had grown insistent, its demand for a voice louder than ever.

"Yes, Harry?" Dumbledore said as he turned to him. Harry hesitated, looking into the familiar lines of the headmaster's face. His eyes darted warily to Fauss, who had stayed strangely quiet. When it seemed Dumbledore did not wish to waste more time, he rushed onward and said, "Back in the room, Fauss didn't mention the thing about Hogsmeade. He said Voldemort had better things to do than destroy the Malfoys, like getting rid of you and taking over Hogwarts. He didn't mention Hogsmeade or the article in the _Daily Prophet_ about the bash on Tuesday. I don't think any of the Slytherins with him knew."

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment before he said in an equally low voice, "Quite. I highly doubt even any of his Death Eaters do indeed, except perhaps for his few closest, like Lucius Malfoy…"

Harry recalled Greyback's raspy proclamation at Malfoy Manor: "But, My Lord, may nothing perturb you – you command their loyalty for the big night and beyond!" But what was 'beyond'? Had Greyback meant Voldemort had the werewolves at his disposal indefinitely?

"As I have already shared with you, Lord Voldemort's nature is highly secretive," Dumbledore went on. " This is only seemly. But, Harry, do not worry yourself with such matters. I want you to concentrate on yourself. If you fear you may grow restless we may reschedule for earlier, though certain measure may have to be put into place – I cannot have the entire school aroused by what you may bring forth whilst I guide you."

"No, sir, it's fine," Harry said, not wishing to be an inconvenience and rather feeling like an unpredictable time bomb. Dumbledore was patently referring to the previous day's hysterical fit on the Quidditch pitch where he became a human flamethrower.

"Then it's settled," Dumbledore said decisively. "I shall be glad of your company at midnight." He turned to Fauss. But then the promise beat even harder against Harry's insides.

"Professor."

Dumbledore turned back to him. "Yes, Harry?"

Harry did not speak, and when Dumbledore seemed to grow politely impatient, he baulked again and instead of voicing his original thought he asked, "Why did you take so long to come? I mean—I mean—I'm very grateful you came and I appreciate it and I am very thankful and…"

Dumbledore merely smiled at him and his eyes gave a tiny twinkle before his face sobered and turned contemplative. "Well, Harry," he said as he stroked his beard, "considering that journey of the message began at a mermaid whose proficiency in English is scarcely apparent understandably, slowly trickled down another four floors of portraits, meeting along the way an over-excitable Sir Cadogan, and ended with a rather – I hope she'll forgive me – notoriously disagreeable French ex-headmistress by the name of Madame Deblois, it was only inevitable that the message emerged barely intelligible. And it would've been close to foolish to hope it had retained its integrity. In fact, if I recall correctly I think it said you were suffering constipation along with a few friends who were 'fishy' in more ways than one. And I couldn't fathom how cowardice featured in all of this. But displaying a rare flash of intelligence I deciphered from the shambles of the message that you were on the fifth floor, conveniently where I had placed Mr Malfoy, and so I took off at once."

"Oh," Harry said shortly, feeling hot in the face. A brief pause ensued.

"Was there anything else?" Dumbledore asked kindly, his silver eyebrows aloft.

This oddly threw off Harry's brain and he had difficulty recalling what they had been talking about. "Er, no. Nothing, Professor."

Dumbledore bowed and in the rapidly dimming light began inching towards the gate as he said, "Then I shall see you at the height of night. Good evening, Harry."

"Dumbledore," Harry called, his sense of embarrassment mounting. He knew he was being a hassle but he felt like he was being held hostage by his personal promise.

Dumbledore turned back to him for the third time. "Harry?" He spoke as ever in his politest tone, but Fauss ran out of patience. He dropped his arms and sighed loudly, the picture of boredom and calm as though he were not about to be held at the Ministry awaiting his one-way ticket to Azkaban.

It could not be delayed any longer, so holding his gaze steady and trying not to falter, Harry ploughed ahead to satisfy the promise he had made to himself to tell the people that meant a great deal to him before it was too late. In a very quiet yet strong, almost harsh voice he said, "I love you."

And there came the most awkward silence in which Harry had ever dwelled with Dumbledore in living memory. Beetroot-red and blazing with fire in his face, he wanted to pull away from Dumbledore's steady gaze. But he held himself fast almost defiantly. Things did not improve when he heard Fauss splutter incredulously, seeming to have come to a realization after frowning at the two of them as he doubtlessly wondered what kind of relationship they had.

"Merlin's left tit, I don't bloody believe this…!" breathed Fauss, whose frosty, dark-blue eyes were bouncing from Harry to Dumbledore. "First pet faggots, now senile badgers…? What's bloody wrong with you, Potter?" His strong, square face twisted in astonishment and disgust in the late dusk. "It isn't enough you're shagging Malfoy, now you wanna go on your knees and-?"

"Thank you, Mr Fauss," Dumbledore said. He turned back to Harry, who had felt as though his already feeble height had shrunken more than a few inches. Dumbledore stood quite still, his gaze unwavering, piercing into Harry and giving him that familiar feeling that he was being x-rayed.

But, though barely seeing through his haze of humiliation which was kindly created by Fauss, Harry noticed that Dumbledore's clear blue eyes looked rather shiny in the fading daylight. But it was with a quite steady voice that Dumbledore said, "I love you too, Harry."

Fauss rolled his eyes to the dimming sky as he slowly turned on the spot, resplendent in utter disbelief.

"You are, dare I say, quite like the surrogate son to me." And after a brief moment's silence flitted past, Dumbledore said urgently, "Well, I should be accompanying Mr Fauss to the Ministry at haste – the dying light mocks us. Keep yourself, Harry." And as the words echoed distantly in his mind to a long-forgotten preschool poem, Dumbledore swept the gate, let Fauss through and followed him out. He suddenly spun and said, "Oh and, Harry, please be so kind, for the sake of safety, as to remove Mr Malfoy from the dungeons and kindly introduce him to your humble dormitory in Gryffindor Tower for the present at least… Ah, and I rather think you forgot to ask for this…"

He handed Harry Draco's wand, and with a twinkle of his cerulean eyes, he strode over to Fauss on the windy road that led to Hogsmeade, grasped the Slytherin's arm, there was a loud crack, and the two men disappeared.

In the present, the door swung open and in bounded an awe-struck Dean and Seamus.

"Blimey, Harry!" breathed Dean as he shut the door and stared at Harry and Draco. Standing beside him, Seamus looked strangely flushed and his eyes were slightly overbright.

Disappointed, as he had been expecting Ron, Harry sat up from his bed. "Hey, guys." He still felt a little defensive, especially towards Dean of whose opinion of him and Draco he was not sure. But of course he was very certain about Seamus.

"Malfoy," Dean said in greeting, the gleam of awe in his eyes subsiding somewhat as he regarded the Slytherin.

"Thomas," Draco returned quietly after looking away from the window. "Finnigan."

Whatever had held Seamus released him at the sound of his name through Draco's lips, for he shivered slightly, but the gleam in his eyes grew all the brighter. "Malfoy," he whispered with a slight stammer.

Quite out of the blue a sense of indignant protectiveness, not unlike that which he had felt when the mermaid had winked flirtatiously at Draco, spread from his chest to each limb as though mobilizing them, and Harry experienced an odd urge to step closer to Draco.

Dean looked around and noticed Seamus's facial expression. When it seemed nobody was going to break the awkward pause he asked Draco loudly, "Are you moving in?"

A red flag rose in Harry's mind. He was almost certain of Draco's exact response to the question. Draco prepared to speak but then sighed placidly. "Unfortunately." He gave Harry a stern stare.

"Would you rather be killed by your own Housemates?" asked Harry, who was rather taken aback by Draco's restraint, even a little disappointed.

Draco's eyes swept over the room quietly as answer and came to rest back on Harry, who rightly gathered that Draco was thinking along the lines of _I'd rather be a dead house-elf than sleep in here_. He was distracted by the sound of Seamus slapping Dean's side, and he and Harry turned back to two friends. Dean and Seamus were studying them intensely as both their eyes sparkled with awe and reverence as though they were looking at the perfect example of a gay couple. Another awkward pause followed.

"Right," Dean announced loudly again, swinging his arm. "Right. Well, er, welcome to Gryffindor Tower! I'm assuming you're going to sleep with Harry?"

Strangely that thought had not come across Harry's mind until now, for he was always concerned about Draco's safety and his being moved to Gryffindor Tower was expressly to that end. But he now realized that there was no other choice but for Draco to sleep with him. His lips fell apart slightly and deep flush crept up his neck. Draco remained supremely aloof.

"No, actually," said Draco cheerfully. He shot a nervous glance at Seamus before adding, "I'll be sleeping with you, Thomas."

The room went still.

"What?" Harry blurted out, feeling quite out of his skin.

"I'll be sleeping with Th—Dean," Draco reiterated, eyeing said on the brink of glaring. Using his first name was undoubtedly part of his efforts to close the distance between them as he apparently saw their arrangement as sleeping buddies as set in stone with agreement of neither the other party nor boyfriend. Dean raised his eyebrows. Seamus seemed not to know how to react to this and remained as still as a very passive gargoyle.

"What do you mean you'll be sleeping with Dean?" Harry said forcefully and loudly, beside himself.

Draco turned to him nonchalantly. "I mean, I won't be sleeping with you – I will be sleeping with Dean Thomas, you see. It's simple English," he drawled.

Harry glared at Draco. A thousand arguments against this foolish idea withered into dust. Draco raised a thin, white eyebrow. Harry looked from Dean, who remained decidedly taken aback, to an incandescent Seamus who did not look far from access. He reasonable that Draco sleeping with Dean was better than him sleeping with Seamus oddly. Now he was certain Draco was still holding over his head his inability to physically show him how much he loved him by performing wandless magic.

This development washed away an obscure wall of certainty at the back of Harry's mind, an almost unthought certainty of having Draco completely at his mercy. Draco was in a foreign territory and would have depended almost totally on him as he navigated the Gryffindor corridors. Draco would have needed him to be around him all the time so he did not have to deal alone with the Gryffindors who would not in all likelihood take his stay amongst them very well. Now all that was dashed.

And just when he felt a ray of hope from the fact that Dean had not yet agreed, "Er, yeah, sure, I guess," said Dean, in a tone of surprise, looking flabbergasted, his cheeks appearing fuller with that patented childish innocence of his. And had his complexion been one shade lighter it would have revealed the glowing blush it mercifully hid.

Draco smiled at Harry. "Thank you, Dean."

This was all wrong. Draco was supposed to rant and rave about being moved into a garish pigsty, be scathing towards Dean and Seamus – especially to the former after asking an inane question the answer to which was deafeningly obvious as Draco had brought his luggage – and so repulsed by Dean's Muggle blood that not only would he not insist sleeping with him as he had done but fall on his knees and hurl quite literally! He was not acting like the Draco Harry expected in Gryffindor! Harry felt his heartbeat quickening. He felt strangled, even cheated almost.

"Fine!" he yelled at Draco, whose smile transformed into that detested tall smirk of his. Harry's nostrils flared. "Fine. Fine, you can sleep with Dean – I don't bloody care – more room, anyway." Cheeks blazing with the embarrassment at his petulant outburst, Harry stomped out of the dormitory to leave Draco with his precious Dean. And Seamus. He eyed the latter warily and his feet faltered at the door as his limbs were revisited by that weird protectiveness again. But he quickly steeled himself, flung the door open and walked out.

In the quiet that suddenly fell, which was not least due to the fact that he was still wearing his Quidditch practice robes when there had not been practice in the first place, he trained his eyes against straying to anywhere else besides the sights Ron, Hermione and the portrait hole. He jerked his head in its direction to gesture that he did not wish to talk when a hundred pairs of ears were audience to them. At first Ron and Hermione did not move at all and for a split second Harry had a plunging feeling in his gut and one of poignant loneliness again. But then his friends shook themselves out of their stupor and started into action: Hermione flew off the couch, throwing her tomes onto the table, and Ron, who had not been so busied, was first to reach him, looking alarmed.

Unknowingly followed by a series of camera flashes, the three of them exited the common room and emerged into the corridor outside, and for the second time they heard severe shushing noises from the portrait. This time, however, the Fat Lady and her friend Violet who was now visiting did not bother with any pretensions of innocence and humbleness, for they were blatantly ogling at Harry.

"Dear, I have just heard! Are you all right? The diarrhoea must have been pretty nasty!" gasped the Fat Lady. "And what of the others? Still smelling fishy?"

Ron and Hermione threw Harry looks asking him to fill them in but he shook his head, smiling, and swept them down the corridor. Before he opened his mouth he cast a wary eye at the line of portraits hanging above the corridor and was correct to be suspicious because he caught sight of the hem of a pink dress and the tip of a chunky elbow that unmistakably belonged to the Fat Lady, who was now hiding – and being hugely unsuccessful at it given that she lived up to her name so consummately – behind the couch upon which sat an equally stoutly stateswoman in garish robes of lime green and with a twisting hairstyle that could have rivalled Rita Skeeter's curly one in elaborateness. Harry thus thought it prudent first to find a classroom wherein they would not run the risk of being overheard. And he hoped meanwhile that the common room was calming down and forgetting about Draco moving in.

How Hermione knew the perfect unused classroom to pick and where it was exactly was, Harry did not know and did not inquire. They now leaned on the tables while portable balls of flame floated in the air for afford them light (Hermione had a talent and predilection for them) as Harry told them about Draco's near-death experience.

Hermione slid off her table but caught herself before she could hit the floor. "I don't believe this," she breathed through her fingers as she held a hand to her mouth. "Again? Malfoy nearly died again today…?"

"That's rotten luck, that," remarked Ron with a superficial grimace.

"And this Fauss troll said You-Know-Who knows everything that happens here at Hogwarts?"

Harry nodded. He did not want to tell them that he had been tortured under the Cruciatus Curse as well – it would only worry them further. And it paled so much in comparison to Draco's close call with death that mentioning it would make him seem ungrateful and misguided.

Hermione came to her feet, looking shaky. "Well, this is just ridiculous," she gasped. "Poor Malfoy, he's got a bounty on his head. No wonder he looks like he's lost half his bodyweight."

Harry frowned at this seemingly exaggerated observation. He felt a sense of shame, for he had not noticed that Draco had lost weight, if he had. Being so concerned for him, he should have known. Glamours surely could not conceal someone's weight, he thought guiltily.

"Dumbledore asked me to move him. So can I rely on you to be friendly to him even though others might not be? I'm sorry for what I did, Hermione. I should've been more responsible and I shouldn't have… stayed with Draco." _I mean I shouldn't have had a bath with him after snogging him on the bed. I should have tried harder to keep my hands off him._

Hermione looked slightly embarrassed and alarmed. "Of course, Harry!" she said quickly. "I mean, we'll try to make him feel comfortable. And of course I accept your apology. I'm sure you're going to take proper notes in classes in future, right?"

Harry smiled but it looked like he had a toothache. Ron chuckled at him but subsided with a vague grunt when Hermione turned to him as well and aggressively demanded his assent to take notes as well.

"I was thinking of having another DA meeting soon," announced Harry, who, in the light of his chat with Dumbledore about the newspaper article of the previous day, felt reawakened to the urgency of the matter and also wished to appease himself to Hermione.

"That's great, Harry!" Hermione enthused. Harry knew all was automatically forgiven and he had a clean slate with her. "I think we should too! I mean, two Killing Curses in the space of two days is just utterly unthinkable. And, Harry, I was thinking if you could find some good jinxes and hexes in your _Useless Magic_ – maybe we can even use those Combination Spells Parvati supposedly foresaw."

Harry and Ron smirked at the faint note of disdain in her voice. "Yeah, we could use those. I'll check it out," Harry said.

"Let's hope Neville and that whale catch on quick this time," Ron said.

Hermione turned to him undoubtedly to reproach, but Harry saved her and Ron the trouble by mentioning that he had bitten the back of his tongue eating something in Draco's room. She repaired and said almost grudgingly, "It's just as Sirius said, we shouldn't underestimate any agent of help, right? Even if it does come from premonitions and Divination textbooks."

Sirius… When last had Harry last heard of him? He was supposed to see him on Sunday at midnight but that was when he had that second dream and had swept past Sirius' face in the hearth, incensed with rage and fit to kill. When would Sirius owl him again, if he still wished to after being ignored like that?

As though she had read his mind Hermione said, "That night he just wanted to tell you that Hogsmeade's growing restless: people are growing scared by the random attacks around their village and it's like they know something is going to happen sooner or later. He also said he'll moving back into Grimmauld Place, it think it was, remember?"

Harry nodded, enveloped in shame. The excuse for missing the fire-call, that he had been defending Draco's welfare, seemed nervous to assuage his immense guilt.

Minutes later they slipped out of the classroom and were making their way back to the common room when they heard it: a slow, soft, beautiful cry that seemed to vibrate throughout the entire school, or at least through Harry's body. It brought his hairs on end. Its melodious coo sang across his veins and nerves, unravelling them, undoing him from the inside out. It swept away all the reminders of the trauma of torture in his muscles. It was the most wonderful sound he had ever heard, and by their rapt expressions he thought Ron and Hermione could feel it too beyond hearing it.

They stared at each other in astonishment but it was as though the music pleaded for their silent commiseration, for Harry could not find it in himself to speak. Nor could he keep walking as the song soared. And after a moment of unknowable duration, the song started to fade, humming at its edges, and Harry felt himself regain his being. He shivered from his hair down to his toes. It was the sound of Fawkes, the sound he associated with Dumbledore, and it made him smile. He looked down at his watch – 20:10 – just four more hours to go.

When they reached the portrait they found the Fat Lady alone, though this had not done anything to quell her curiosity, which Hermione made clear Harry was not going to satisfy when she hurled the password at the Fat Lady over her girlish screeches. The Fat Lady did open for them but not without exacting some revenge as she swung back shut so quickly that Harry heard her slap Ron's backside, causing Ron to tumble into Hermione, who clucked her tongue in ire.

"If only the Wizarding world was advanced enough to have number pads to punch in the password instead of having to deal with gossipy cows."

She strode back to the scarlet couches around the fireplace but not before giving a warning glare and tapping her Prefect's badge at Colin Creevey, who had been about to lift his camera for a shot of Harry. Parvati and Lavender huffed furiously at their corner. Ron and Harry climbed up the stairs.

"So where exactly is Malfoy gonna sleep?" Ron whispered under his breath as they entered the dormitory.

Swiftly the thick patina of contentedness with which phoenix song had blessed him eroded away.

"With Dean," replied Harry with dignity.

Ron's expression did not change as though Harry's words had not yet reached his ears, and even when they saw Draco testing the springiness of Dean's bed it did not seem to hit home. Ron remained wordless, though his freckles stood out a little more sharply on his face.

Harry had dreaded the confrontation between Ron and Draco, and it appeared both Draco and Dean shared this sentiment, as a flat expression slipped on Draco's face and he crossed his arms, and Dean started busying himself haphazardly, opening and closing drawers, adjusting his West Ham FC poster, putting on two pairs of socks instead of one and tapping on his wristwatch to check if it still worked.

Showing an unprecedented sense of maturity as Harry had never seen before, or perhaps because he was still filled with Fawkes' soothing music, Ron merely lifted his chin rather like Hermione was inclined to in Draco's presence, quietly strode over to his bed and started fidgeting with stuff as well, pulling open and pushing closed his drawer, flicking through his _Quidditch Through the Ages_ and testing out his Sneakoscope, repeatedly shaking it as though he could not believe it was not activating because of present company. He glared at it and shook it harder still, clearly suspecting it broken.

The evening was infantile and Harry knew he had homework to do. He did not how Draco was going to go about doing his own but he suspected Draco might do it on Dean's bed while the rest of them did it downstairs in the common room. That did not sound appealing to Harry, who would not enjoy the staring and whispering that would undoubtedly ensue as soon as he stepped out of the dormitory. And he was exhausted as well. It had been a very long day. Just looking at his bed made his eyelids heavy momentarily, and he thought Draco must be feeling the same.

Neville bustled into the room looking happy about something and carrying his stunted plant tenderly, at which point a sneer wrinkled Draco's upturned nose. Upon spotting it Neville froze and he seemed to be looking at his worst nightmare standing before him. His head jerked between Harry and the other occupants in the room as he searched for an explanation of Draco Malfoy's presence. A flush began to make its way from Neville's neck to his round cheeks as the silence mounted on top of itself and as more attention fixed on him. He scuttled to his bed, placed his plant on his bedside table and, as Ron and Dean had done, started redecorating his area, opening and closing the drawer, taking stock of the books in his trunk, locating and polishing his wand. But when Draco spoke directly to him, asking, "What is that, Longbottom?" Neville jerked so wildly his wand missed his eye by inches but it stabbed his plant, which exploded Stinksap and drenched him.

Draco raised his eyebrow as Neville blinked away the slimy liquid in his eyes and smacked his lips. A strong smell of petroleum wafted over to the rest of the room.

"_Scourgify_," muttered Seamus. The Stinksap disappeared but the smell stayed with them.

"_Mimbulus mimbletonia_," Neville answered.

"Right," said Draco shortly, surveying Neville appraisingly, and Harry could almost see his opinion of Neville plummeting into the negatives.

Harry had no idea what Draco meant by acting amicably towards everyone. Then again he thought if he were going to sleep in the enemy's house we would want to make his stay there as bearable as possible, which meant familiarising himself with the people beside whom he would be sleeping. _"I can be anything I need to be, Harry. That is what a Slytherin does – he does what is necessary to survive or achieve a goal. Adaptation – you learn it early on."_

Draco stayed behind and worked on Dean's bed in the end while Dean, along with Harry, Ron, Neville and Seamus trooped out into the common room. Ron stayed at Harry's side and the others occupied him to distract him from the other Gryffindors, doing their best to pretend as if all was well and that a Slytherin did not dwell in their Gryffindor dormitory as they spoke.

But this comfortable illusion was nearly shattered when they all spied Parvati and Lavender, arm in arm, making a beeline for Harry, who, in a fit of panic, glanced beseechingly at Hermione. Before Harry could say anything she granted him mercy: "I think you've done enough for the night, Harry. I'll help you with the rest of it in class, hopefully. Now go!"

Suspecting the doing of phoenix song upon her as well, for they both knew he had not done nearly enough under twenty minutes, and offering to help him finish his homework during class was as unheard of as a tactful Ron, Harry smiled fleetingly and shot up the stairs without a second glance behind him. Dean and the others followed him after a moment's hesitation, and they bounded through the door together as though their newfound solidarity extended even to following Harry wherever he went.

Surrounded by a sea of textbooks, parchments and quills, Draco looked up from whatever he was scribbling and watched them enter. Heading for his bed Harry could almost feel how uncomfortable Draco was with their commotion and being surrounded by people and things with which he was not familiar. He threw his rucksack on top of his trunk and tiredly flung himself onto his bed. However, suspended in mid-air with his arms flailing carelessly over his head, a most fortuitous gust of wind swept his window open and in flew an enormous shadow.

Landing uncouthly on his bed, Harry heard Neville shriek before there were quick, panicked movements. He sat up and straightened his glasses to see Neville cowering in his corner as the enormous wings of Draco's eagle owl sent Draco's parchments swirling into the air. Seamus started sycophantically catching at them while Dean stood rigidly as he watched the owl.

Draco held his arm level. The large eagle owl, boasting tawny diamond patterns sprawled upon its rich brown plumage, ruffled its feather, and extended its neck proudly, around which was a gold collar set with an immodestly sized emerald.

"Oi, Dragonfly," Draco cooed as he caressed the eagle owl and was about to undo the note on its scaly leg.

Harry blinked, Dean tilted his head sideways and Seamus frowned. When they caught each other's eyes Harry threw his head back and released a bark of laughter, Seamus doubled over, whooping breathlessly, and Dean covered his face as his shoulders heaved. Neville remained petrified in his corner if a little confused at the unwarranted merriment around him. He was not alone in his confusion as Ron's eyes were bouncing between the three laughing boys confoundedly and Draco's eyebrows were contracted in confusion and indignation. His eagle owl hooted angrily at the noise.

"Um, do you mates mind sharing the joke, please?" Ron asked kindly in a slightly testy voice when the hilarity did not show any signs of an end, for Harry was still clutching at his sides on the floor and squeezing tears out of his eyes as he scrunched them in pain and Dean and Seamus were still holding onto each other for support as they shook.

"Yes, please do," Draco said, looking around him with irritation. And perhaps sensing this in its owner's voice, the eagle owl screeched balefully as it took off Draco's arm, and its huge wings burst forth from their folds, cutting short Seamus's amusement and causing him to hide behind a wide-eyed Dean whose tears of mirth evaporated on the spot. Neville squealed and vigorously tried to flatten himself into his corner until the walls absorbed him. Harry started into silence at once and was back on his feet.

The eagle owl landed on Seamus's bed.

"Yes," said Draco as he took a breath with dignity while his owl landed on Seamus's bed. He eyed Harry, Dean and Seamus piercingly but failed to conceal his satisfaction from the fear his pet had visibly aroused. "As Weasley was saying, would you mind sharing the joke?" He was so intent on finding out just what was funny that perhaps he was unmindful of the solidarity his words suggested between him and Ron, who nevertheless bristled at his name coming off Draco's tongue.

"You don't know what a dragonfly is?" Harry said, his lips twitching, though one glance at the eagle owl quelled his temptation to slip back into laughter.

Ron and Draco, incidentally the only two purebloods in the room besides Neville, looked at him expectantly. Neville was brandishing his _Mimbletonia_ at Dragonfly as though a stunted plant could defend him from something with a wingspan that was nearly as long as he was tall. And Seamus and Dean were glaring at Harry warningly, no doubt concerned about what might happen to them involving the large owl if Harry were to tell Draco that a dragonfly was a similarly winged creature, and though extremely agile, it was about six centimetres long and as insignificant as an insect, incidentally, precisely what it was.

"Er," said Harry, now concerned of his own well-being as well. There was a horrible silence that spanned infinitely wherein he was watched by six pairs of eyes, including Dragonfly's. Perhaps the owl had sensed that it was involved in the proceedings as well since Harry had mentioned its name.

The door miraculously crashed open and in burst an excited Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown and Colin Creevey.

"Ah!" Parvati trilled in ecstasy at the sight of Harry and Draco in the same room. "Harry, you know you owe me this-!" But her beaming face changed as she caught sight of Dragonfly into one of horror as she screamed shrilly, joined by Lavender. Colin Creevey jumped out of his skin and his camera flew high in the air when Draco's eagle owl took off Seamus's bed and outstretched its claws upon the three new additions to the room. Amidst flapping wings, swirling parchments and terrified screams, Harry saw three blurred streaks shoot out the room, there was a baleful hoot, a loud click as Dragonfly somehow kicked the door closed with its talons, and then silence, broken only the noise of Dragonfly's wings flapping before it landed on Seamus's bed. Harry had never thought he would ever encounter another owl with as much personality – and a dangerous one at that – as his Hedwig, but here Dragonfly was.

He had been immensely grateful for that distraction but that was before Dragonfly had made sure to eliminate it swiftly. The attention from which he had so recently been released gradually resumed upon him once more, and the silence thickened. Just before Draco opened his mouth the door swung open again and Colin Creevey streamed inside, grabbed his camera from the floor and leapt for the door, but not before he caught a powerful slap from Dragonfly's wing on his ear. With a squeak Colin Creevey shut the door behind him and could be heard tumbling down the stairs. Dragonfly flew back to Seamus's bed.

Draco cleared his throat in the new silence. "I believe you were about you explain why you were laughing at me," he said tersely, crossing his arms.

Harry could have sworn he saw Dragonfly's sharp talons glint right before his eyes. He swallowed thickly and hoped his Quidditch robes were sufficiently thick and talon-resistant.

"Er, I wasn't—we weren't laughing at you exactly," Harry spluttered, his eyes darting between Draco and Dragonfly. His murder would spark nationwide alarm, right? A very swift one at that? Dragonfly must be afraid he would be hunted down and eaten for killing the Chosen One. Seamus glanced at Dragonfly's talons on his bed: there were a few gashes in the crimson duvet. He was clearly thinking that might be his skin next.

_Swoosh!_

In desperate need for another distraction, Harry spun around and saw a snow-white streak soar into the dormitory.

"Hedwig!"

There was instant reaction: as Hedwig landed on Harry's arm Dragonfly piqued, extending its neck attentively and shuffling about on Seamus's bed. Hedwig acted normally until her large amber eyes landed on the other owl and she moved no more.

With immeasurable relief for this second distraction – Harry had an inkling this one would not be dealt with as easily as the previous one – and with his heart still beating very rapidly, Harry looked from Hedwig to Dragonfly. He had never seen Hedwig stand so still before as though she were a stuffed toy gazing down at Draco's eagle owl. Dragonfly, too, had frozen. There was a moment of silence wherein Harry, Ron, Draco, Dean and Seamus looked at each other curiously. But then Dragonfly hooted timidly – a shock for Harry to witness – and shuffled about randomly as if to attract attention.

Hedwig remained frozen for a few more moments before she seemed to regain herself: she ruffled her feathers importantly and returned a small, dignified hoot before she looked away as though the eagle owl before her was not worth her further attention.

"Hey, girl," said Harry, filling the silence that had fallen again. He went to his drawer and took out a packet of Owl Treats, feeding them to Hedwig. But it was apparent Hedwig had no appetite, for she would rather stare at Seamus's bed upon which the eagle owl stood. Draco tried to untie the note on Dragonfly leg but he was proving disagreeable as he kept shuffling away and flapping his wing at Draco as though to shoo him away so he could remain solitary in the frame of Hedwig's vision.

"Hedwig," said Harry a little urgently, as a familiar feeling burgeoned in him. Hedwig shivered, seemingly rousing, and looked down into his palm and started pecking at the Owl Treats with grace. Harry did not know if Hedwig came just for a visit or had been motivated by Fawkes' song to see him, but seeing her again made him think of Sirius. And she did not have a note with her. He missed Sirius. He wanted to speak to him and apologize for missing his fire-call. What would Sirius say if he told him that the reason he missed his fire-call was that he had been possessed by Voldemort?

Suddenly depressed, which only awakened his limbs to their exhaustion and ebbing pain from under Fauss's formidable Cruciatus Curse now that phoenix song was not anywhere to soothe his muscles, Harry petted Hedwig as he strode over to his window and gazed out of it. It was a beautiful evening – the stars were out and the clouds hung like misty carpets across the sky.

"How's Sirius doing?" he asked Hedwig in a quiet voice.

Hedwig gave a belated and distracted hoot. Standing there saddened as he was, for Hedwig to be concerned about nothing but Draco's eagle owl infuriated Harry, who rather viciously threw his arm out the window, dislodging Hedwig. She gave a screeching yelp but with a glare and a few threatening scratches to the window panes as he pulled in the window's handle she took off into the night. Harry was about to snap the windows closed when there came another screech and a large shadow shaved the corner of his eye: he looked back to see the enormous eagle owl barrelling at him. He ducked aside and Dragonfly flew out. Glaring at his diminishing figure, Harry snapped the windows shut loudly. _Well, at least there's no happy couple tonight._

He collapsed into his bed. He did not care what happened among Draco and the rest of his dorm mates. His eyes closed, he did not hear anything for several moments – clearly, they were still shaken by Draco's eagle owl and his uncharacteristic floundering after Hedwig's arrival – and sleep started to seduce him. But then the sound of Dean and Draco speaking floated over to him. Seamus joined the very stilted conversation and it grew easy and less painful. It was when Seamus shared his summer Explosive Éclairs story and made Draco chuckle softly that Harry, all traces of drowsiness gone, sprang to his feet and started rearranging his own stuff while he kept a furtive eye on the proceedings.

Although Dean was right next to him, Seamus, with that glowing gleam in his eyes still, seemed to be going all out to engage Draco in conversation and amuse him. Harry unfolded and refolded his socks while he looked on through his long eyelashes. He pulled open and pushed closed his drawer, took out _Useless Magic_ and rifled through it, somehow ending up looking for spells that could make somebody less hilarious. And at a particularly funny and rather crude joke that involved Luna Lovegood, Hagrid and a Crumple-Horned Snorkack in the woods and that made Draco divest all pretence of refinement and bark out in laughter – a beautiful, disturbing sound, for Harry had never made Draco laugh like that before – Harry ground his jaw and glared at the book in his hand as he flicked feverishly through it in frustration, ripping a few pages as he went.

Then, gloriously he finally found it – four in fact: Humour Holder Hex, Joker Jammer Jinx, Sensation Spoiler Spell, and the Charmer Choker Charm. Harry's heart soared, and resisting the urge to kiss the book, thinking how on earth someone could have thought of a spell that fitted his need so perfectly, he surreptitiously drew his wand. Now the only the problem left was targeting Seamus without alarming the others and speak all four incantations (he was leaving nothing to chance – the more spells the merrier) without being noticed.

It turned out he did not need to do any of this, however: Draco had apparently regained his modesty and said he was tired right in the middle of Seamus's fifth Irish joke, whereupon Dean quickly agreed to this himself. But whether it was because he could not wait to slip into the sheets with Draco or it was in relief that Seamus would stop blatantly trying to endear himself to Draco, Harry was not sure. But he was grateful for it.

This, however, was before Draco took out his pyjamas from his trunk and started taking off his clothes. Stretches of pale skin were revealed swath by swath. And though Seamus was ostensibly casually rifling through _Which Broomstick?_ Harry could not have been surer he was checking his lover's goods out, not at all minding his boyfriend Dean, whom was also stripping off his clothes to reveal the antithesis of Draco's pale skin – a chocolate, muscular build at which he saw Draco do a double take. Thereafter, Draco dressed a little faster, possibly ashamed of his own feeble physique. He continued to glance appraisingly at a steady undressing Dean, and it was at this particularly that Harry finally yielded to his desperation.

"Seamus, why don't you sleep with me? Then Draco can take your bed."

Draco whipped around to glare at him in anger and surprise but did not protest, which Harry relished as it would undoubtedly seem strange if amidst all the testosterone in the room Draco turned down this opportunity to sleep alone rather than with another boy on a bed that could hardly fit two.

"Eh?" said Seamus, apparently confused.

"You sleep with me and Draco gets your bed," declared Harry, his hands partially fisted at his sides.

Ron was looking at him strangely where he lay under his covers with his arms tucked behind his head resting on the headboard.

"Oh," said Seamus, looking between Dean and Draco, the both of whom were looking back at him importantly as though what he may decide would have far more devastating consequences than sleeping arrangements. Looking fittingly nervous, Seamus swallowed, his eyes now darting between Harry's and Draco's equally demanding glares. "Well, I—okay, that's fine by me kilt," he muttered finally but dithering all the more.

"Good," said Harry, with more aggression than he intended, so relieved that he released a shaky breath. He went back to his bed but then caught Ron's eye. Why had he not asked Ron to sleep with him? He was vastly more familiar with him than Seamus. Even more amazingly, why had he not suggested Seamus sleep with Dean, as they seemed to be quite comfortable with each other already – giggling along and holding hands? Feeling like the stupidest creature on the planet, Harry started arranging his bed. But no, he thought, he wanted a decided guarantee that Seamus was far from Draco, and sleeping with him would give him that.

He changed out of his Quidditch practice robes and put on his Snitch pyjamas. When Seamus eventually came over they exchanged plainly contrived smiles and slipped under the covers, simultaneous actions which only exacerbated the sudden feeling of awkwardness about having another boy in his bed, and at his own will, no less. He fidgeted slightly and took careful attention in setting his alarm for 11:50. That meant he would have about three hours' sleep. And suddenly his exhaustion seemed to multiply exponentially and cave in on him: his head sunk down heavily onto the pillow and he listened quietly as Seamus closed the bed curtains and shifted about until he got comfortable. Sleep clutched at him without wasting time, dragging his eyelids shut and settling a heavy weight upon his chest such that it seemed to sink into itself with the absolute exhaustion of the day.

"Thomas, come back in here!"

All ropes of sleep apparently relinquished, Harry sprang up out of bed and watched through the scarlet curtains as Draco's haughty profile commanded Dean back into his bed and Dean tiptoed back into the sheets with an apologetic look at Harry. It could not have been clearer that Draco wanted him to hear and see this. His lips pressed thinly upon each other, Harry threw himself back into his bed and yanked the covers over his head. He was so convinced he was giving off waves of hot fury that he was surprised to hear Seamus dare speak up. in the dead silence of the night after the lights went out for the earliest nightcap they'd ever had.

"Harry," he heard Seamus whisper. He pretended to be asleep, which he was not far from being, if truth be told.

"Harry?" Seamus whispered again. "You asleep? …You really like Malfoy?" Somehow Harry found himself unable to resist reacting to this, even if all he did was shift slightly in the sheets. But requiring no verbal encouragement, apparently, Seamus went on, "That DA meeting yesterday, he was really impressive! I don't think they're going to hate him for too long here." Seamus went silent for several moments wherein Harry kept quiet and motionless though inwardly appreciating Seamus's words of encouragement.

"The whole school went crazy when you walked in with him into the Great Hall." Seamus chuckled airily. "But Monday took the cake when Malfoy came over to our table. We thought he'd done a flipper in his head – everyone did. But then you actually went after him out of the Hall." It was quite clear Seamus was expecting some reaction here, but when Harry did not oblige him but listened carefully, if a little drowsily, Seamus continued, "Oh and don't even think I didn't see your little secret smooching session in Charms today when Malfoy was away and Confunded. I saw you!"

Heart beating suddenly fast, Harry flushed deeply under the covers. He could not even defend himself even if he wanted to.

"And of course the cheekiest of them all: Malfoy bloody kissing you right in front of the bleedin' school! Jeanie Mac, man!" The giggles that shook the bed shortly subsided and there was another pause of silence. But it seemed Seamus was determined to a get a reaction from Harry. "Do you really love him?"

Harry gave an odd twitch of his head but he recovered himself and remained very still, exaggerating his breathing slightly to mimic the deep, slow rhythmic chest oscillations of sleep.

"So you think you're gay, Harry?"

It was the first time Seamus brought Harry's name into the things he was talking about. And perhaps it was his tone or the fact that he and Harry had a conversation in the past that went along these lines that Harry could not find it in him to pretend any longer. So finally he turned around to face Seamus, who was barely visible in the darkness.

"But I like him, right? He's a bloke – doesn't that obviously mean I'm…?" Harry found he could not say it, which was a surprise to him. It had actually never occurred to him that, indeed, if he was attracted to another male, he was most likely gay. It had always been about Draco – not for his maleness, not the sexuality – just Draco. There was so much to love about him and so much mystery in him that they rendered Harry's internal battles of sexuality irrelevant. Draco being Draco was all there was and all that was necessary. Harry thought any member of either sex could fall in love with him.

Seamus did not speak for a while. Then Harry felt him shift in the bed and before he knew it Seamus's foreign lips were kissing him – slightly rough and much too voluminous. He recoiled as though his lips had touched Stinksap and stared with bulging eyes at the nothingness in front of him where he thought Seamus's face was. Suddenly everything about the boy sleeping next to him repulsed him, from the smell of his breath to the weight with which he sunk the bed. Harry almost could not have been straighter in his life than he was in that moment.

"What was that for?" Harry hissed. He did not care if his disgust had entered his voice and that he was very overtly growing the distance between him and Seamus as much as his bed would allow. "What would you prove with that?"

"Do you look at Hermione like that?" Seamus asked, sounding utterly unconcerned and unabashed, perhaps feeling more confident in the dark because Harry could not see him.

Harry was so thrown off by the kiss, the very non sequitur it was, and the oddity of the question itself that his incredulity took a full ten seconds to catch up with his speech. "Wha—I—No, of course not. But that doesn't mean—I mean, that should—Hermione's my friend, I don't think about her like that."

"And you didn't like the kiss?"

"Of course not!" whispered Harry.

"But if Malfoy kissed you…"

"Good night, Seamus!" Harry was uncomfortable and wholly regretted inviting Seamus into his bed, which had not borne the desired fruit: Draco was still sleeping with Dean. And Seamus was not showing any signs of shutting up soon. Harry twisted back around and heaved the covers over his head.

It quickly became apparent Seamus was not finished with him. "Dean likes to hold, you know," he told Harry with a trace of spite in his voice. "Does that a lot to me. I'd warn Malfoy. I mean I won't lie, Harry, Merlin magicked that boy good – he's blessed down there-" And Harry was leaping out of the bed and stomping over to Dean's bed, yanking the curtains aside.

"Draco, come, you're sleeping with me," Harry said very firmly and very sternly, glaring down at the rousing figures of milky pale and chocolaty skin. He did not care for the snoring that he disturbed coming from Neville's and Ron's beds.

"Are you bloody nutters, Potter? We're sleeping here," Draco rasped, blurry-eyed.

"Come," Harry ordered imperiously, taking his arm, which Draco yanked loose.

"Let go of me and go to bed with your precious Finnigan." Draco took hold of the covers again.

"You're coming to sleep with me," Harry stated in a low and commanding voice before turning on the spot.

"You don't own me, Potter!" hissed Draco, looking as though he were fighting not to be taken by the possessive look in Harry's eyes and feel flattered by his presumptuousness.

Harry turned back around and the two of them glared at each other for what seemed like eons until Harry finally yelled, "Fine!" Neville jerked in his sleep and knocked over his _Mimbletonia_, which exploded before it hit the floor and showering him in Stinksap once more. He smacked his lips in his sleep.

Harry stomped back into bed with Seamus, threw the covers above him, and when he heard Seamus draw breath to speak rapped, "Shut up, Seamus, or I'll hex you back to your bed!" The Irish boy huffed and climbed out of his bed to return to his own, which pleased Harry immensely. After a few minutes of battling his emotions, listlessness and abusing his pillow, his previous exhaustion revisited him and whisked him away on a sleepy sojourn.

It seemed like six seconds later that his watch was beeping. His tiredness was such that his eyes were not completely closed but showed as white strips. The strange noise persisted but Harry heeded to nothing – he did not stir, and the beeping became a rhythm that entwined along with the coils of his blissful sleep. Only Draco's moans floating in the darkness could make him wipe the drool off his cheek and slip out of bed. Feeling as though he weighed a million tons Harry floundered over to Dean's bed, where the moans grew louder and drawn out and desperate. He pushed the curtains aside and shook Draco without meaning it.

"No…" Draco mewled. "I'm not a pretty whore…"

"Draco," Harry said, with barely enough energy to shake the other boy's shoulder.

"No," Draco moaned again, and Harry shook him a little harder. It took seeing Dean sliding closer to spoon Draco and wrap his arm protectively around him for most of Harry's somnolent haze to vanish. He removed the dark-skinned arm off the alabaster skin and delivered his most motivated jerk to Draco.

"Draco, it's just a dream. Wake up. Draco."

Draco awoke with a start.

"It's just a dream. Just a dream," soothed Harry, holding him. He noticed Draco's books, parchments, ink wells and the note his pet owl had brought lying on Dean's drawer top. Draco looked dazed and confused, and not to mention as exhausted as Harry felt. Draco let go of him and sat still on the bed, his head bent downwards, his white-blond hair rumpled, and swaying slightly as though he would doze off at the slightest prod.

Harry looked down at him. "Who was the note from?" he asked.

It took a few seconds for Draco to answer, as though his words had travelled very slowly to his ears or his brain had interpreted them extremely slowly. "Blaise and Pansy. Wanted to know if I was all right."

Harry nodded vaguely. He understood that Blaise and Pansy were Draco's friends, but there was something inappropriate and almost vulgar about the notion of the three of them sharing the same quantity of affection that existed between him, Ron and Hermione. Harry loved Draco and had accepted all of his flaws and wonders, but he was yet able to extend that understanding to all Slytherins, including those associated with Draco.

"I have to go to Dumbledore. He's probably back by now," Harry said. He yawned, which tempted Draco and he did so as well, and both their eyes brimmed with tears as they stared into each other. Draco seemed to look straight through him, however, and he swayed again on the spot. He jerked his elbow to keep himself upright after nearly toppling over, murmured indistinctly and peeled the sheets off laboriously.

"I'll go with you – can't sleep…"

Harry nodded and went over to his trunk, slipped on his glasses, trainers, his Weasley sweater, and grabbed his wand from the drawer top. He returned to Dean's bed and waited for Draco to remove his cashmere sweater and slippers from his trunk, slip them on, and, surprising Harry dimly, grab his own wand as well. They stumbled out of the dormitory and slipped out of the portrait hole. The Fat Lady was snoring away most unladylike, and seeing Harry and Draco slipping out alone in the misty midnight would undoubtedly have been a treat, a delicious titbit to savour with Violet.

"Is that what I think it is?" yawned Draco, his silver-blond hair fluttering softly as he gazed up at the sky with a frown while they walked into the mouth of the Quidditch pitch.

Harry looked up. Perhaps it was a trick of his eyes due to sleep deprivation but the mist in the air seemed to take the outline of a phoenix against the vast blackness. They waited under it but in vain, and Draco even dozed off on Harry's shoulder while they sat on the grass in the middle of the pitch. Worried and more than a little irritated after he had anticipated this for so long, and after rousing Draco and much convincing on his part, he finally persuaded the Slytherin to stumble their way to the headmaster's office. They knocked on the door several times but no answer came from beyond.

Slightly more sober, Harry wondered where Dumbledore could be. He was supposed to be back from the Ministry already. Surely it did not take long to pass by it and deposit someone in a holding cell. Perhaps Dumbledore had returned but dozed off, having forgotten to set his alarm if he had one.

Smiling at the strange idea of Dumbledore sleeping, for the image of Dumbledore upright and clasping his hands over his over his beard, smiling with a twinkle in his eye has persisted ever since his first sit-down in the Great Hall in his first year, Harry took Draco's hand – Draco was too delirious with exhaustion to resist – and led them back to Gryffindor Tower. Taking advantage of Draco's exhaustion Harry drew him into his own bed, and without even slipping under the sheets, lying under Harry's comforting weight again, Draco did stirred not once as the two boys slept in much-deserved rest after the longest Wednesday of their lives.


	31. Cauldron Boiling

**Chapter 37**

**Cauldron Boiling**

Ron stood watchfully over Harry's bed. The expression on his face wavered, hardened and changed again as he gazed down at the two figures entwined upon the crimson bed. He seemed not to know what to make of it, though he certainly looked slightly nauseous, for it was undoubtedly a sight he had never thought he would witness: Harry partly sprawled on top of Draco, the picture of an indecent clash of deep black short hair and long, flowing white locks; alabaster-pale, luxurious skin and shyly tanned peach skin. A forehead as pristine and smooth as marble, and another disfigured by the famous lightning-bolt scar.

But most disturbing for Ron to see, however, apart from noting that Harry and Draco fitted each other so well, was their two morning erections, and lying so disturbingly close to one another. A shiver ran up Ron's body, and with his eyes shut he shook Harry's leg and flew out of the dormitory, for he did not wish to stay behind when they woke up.

But Harry did not stir. Neither he nor Draco did when Harry's alarm went off and the beautiful voice of Narcissa sang from nearby Dean's bed at 06:30 sharp. Dean grumpily came over and dumped on the bed a contraption that looked like a cross between a pocket watch, a very small radio and a compass. It took a visit from Hermione to wake him up, after which he and Draco lumbered towards the showers, bumping along the walls and stumping their toes on every threshold they encountered. The warm caress of the shower was not helpful, and Harry soon found himself swaying sleepily under the torrent. He finally and properly woke up after his forehead met with the tap, leaving it smarting and swollen.

He stepped out of the stall and wrapped a maroon towel around his waist. As he approached the basin he almost saw what was going to happen before it did. He did a double take at the shimmering glass door in Draco's stall. This was wrong, right? Staring at people while they showered? It was surely a private moment. But for such a splendid moment there existed no place for ignominy in Harry's world, and so he stared at the sinuous pale blob and the slow, almost reverent movements of its limbs.

Watching an entirely exposed Draco make a single, unbroken swipe from his ankle all the way to his thigh, in at that moment, bent over as he was and his hair falling over his face, it was as though his body could be drawn with a single, upward, graceful flourish of a quill, so simple and elegant it looked.

His pride soon knocked him back into his senses and he scrambled to brush his teeth. While he did so Draco emerged naked from his shower.

"Towels," Draco said. "Where are the towels?"

"There," Harry said, as he pointed to the stack of folded maroon towels sitting in one corner of the room, though his eyes did not follow his finger. Draco grabbed a towel and wrinkled his nose as he held it up, clearly revolted.

"Maroon…" muttered the Slytherin with disdain. When he put the towel on seemed even sexier than without it.

Slightly irritated with himself, and with a fresh bulge straining against his towel, Harry turned back to his mirror and brushed his teeth religiously.

If Harry thought dragging the Slytherin into the Gryffindor common along with his belongings was bed, he did not know what to think when he entered the Great Hall with the same person that morning. It was not the first time they did this, so he could not understand why the Hufflepuffs looked not far from dropping to the floor in delirium, why the Ravenclaws were rapping away behind their mouths as they watched the both of them from beneath their foreheads, and why the Slytherins were giving them glares fit to murder. Though some of them remained indifferent, like Massice, Blaise, Carrow and Warrington, all of whom astonished Harry that they dared look him and Draco in the eye. What he had expected, though, was the surge in volume at the Gryffindor table. It was only yesterday that Draco had moved in.

As he and Draco drew level to the House table there was a flash of a camera, and Hermione leapt from her seat.

"Colin, give me that camera!"

"You have no right to take it!" Parvati squawked at once, her hair flipping wildly as she flew to her feet.

"Yeah! Where does it say so in the Prefect's Big Book of Rules?" Lavender shrieked after she leapt into view, twisting her neck as she eyed Hermione, whose face was blotched with a red tinge and whose hands were fisted at her sides. She seemed at a loss of words. Meanwhile, Colin Creevey took his opportunity and snuck in as many shots of Harry and Draco as he dared, one big blue eye hidden by the blinking camera and the other wide with fascination of his subject.

Ron was pretending not to be hearing any of this, engaging himself devotedly to his eggs and ham, a smudgy glass of pumpkin juice ready on the side.

"But it's an invasion of Harry's and Draco's privacy!" Hermione argued, recovering herself.

It escaped neither Harry nor Draco himself that Hermione had used his given name. Harry felt a little foolish when Draco did nothing to Hermione nor offer his weight behind her argument on his behalf. Did he really expect Draco to put Hermione in her place for daring to use his first name?

"Well they don't seem to mind!" Parvati said victoriously.

"Harry, you mind your privacy being violated, don't you?" Hermione asked aggressively as she inflated in a threatening manner. Harry was just about to answer positively when he caught Parvati's eye.

"Harry owes me the right of violating his privacy because if it wasn't for me he wouldn't have a DA to lead in the first place!" Parvati pointed out imperiously, silently daring Harry to contradict her.

Hermione glared at Harry expectantly but Harry really did not see how he could counter Parvati. She was right. He looked at Draco, who gave no gesture of support despite the fact that the argument involved him as well.

"Where are these pictures going, anyway?" Harry rather asked, even as he threw a distrustful glance at the open _Daily Prophet_ underneath Hermione.

Parvati and Lavender lapsed into squeals of joy so readily it was as though they had been waiting for someone to ask them.

"We thought you'd never ask!" Lavender squeaked. "Oh! By the way, I have to get that interview from Cho about what happened between the two of you that died so quickly! Ah!" And with that Lavender took off for the Ravenclaw table, leaving her friend quivering with excitement next to Harry.

"Harry, you won't believe this!" Parvati crowed, her eyes glowing. She lowered her voice slightly. "We're starting _The Hogwarts Howler_!" Her shoulders shook as she squealed again, this time alone, though this did nothing to mitigate her in the slightest. "Isn't it great? And Lavvy and I are going to start it with a bang: you and Dra—I mean, Mal—Dra—Ma…" Uncertain as to what to call Draco, she fell quiet and rapidly grew a flush to her cheeks as she looked on nervously at Draco, who did not tell what she could call him but brought his fork to his lips and continued his breakfast as though all was right with the world.

Her cheeks reddened to boiling point and she seemed to panic as the sudden lull in the conversation persisted – even though only one person was engaging in it. Harry caught an amused expression on Hermione's face.

Parvati regained herself. "Anyway! As I was saying, Lavender and I are starting it off with a bang – the very first article about the Boy Who Lived and the Slytherin Sex Sprig!" She cut off here and blushed again. The moniker for Draco came so naturally to her that it had slipped out of her lips before she could think on it.

"Let me guess," said Draco, "a good person meets bad person story. The good makes the bad good and they marry and live happily ever after?" Parvati was shocked that Draco had spoken directly to her that she did not speak for a full ten seconds while her face grew pink once more, a reaction shared by Harry after the word 'marry' was mentioned.

Parvati fell upon herself to respond. "Er—I—yes. That was, er, well, the gist of the story, yeah…" She looked away and sat quietly, looking utterly castrated, all excitement and trembling gone. And with a momentarily silent Parvati – a rarity in and of itself, a blushing Harry – an indifferent Ron, a religiously breakfasting Draco and a dubiously reading Hermione, suddenly came a sombre air about them. And a flash of Colin Creevey's camera. Hermione turned a page loudly and glared at Colin, who ducked behind Parvati but managed to sneak another shot of Harry and Draco over her shoulder.

"Colin, that's really irritating," said Harry, who was now fed up with the flashes. Or perhaps reproaching Colin distracted him from his feeling of embarrassment.

"Hiya, Harry!" Colin exclaimed as he slid out from behind Parvati as though it was the first time he saw Harry and had not been flashing his camera at him and Draco ever since they entered the Great Hall. He stood behind them beaming at their faces.

"Hi, Colin, but can you lay it off with the camera, please?" Harry begged.

Parvati instantly reanimated at this. "I don't think I have to remind you-"

"The only reason Harry's doing the DA is because he cares about what happens to your big mouth! He didn't do it to inconvenience anyone and he certainly didn't do it so he could be harassed by Colin Creevey and his camera, nor by your undignified attempts to make a story from him and Draco!" Hermione was breathing hard, her cheeks were crimson and her hair quivered threateningly as she pinned down Parvati with a hazel glare.

Parvati recoiled so much out of shock that she looked in danger of tipping her chair backwards onto the floor.

There was a flash of red: Colin Creevey had made a run for it.

"Which reminds me," Hermione continued a little breathlessly, "we have a DA meeting tonight, don't we, Harry?"

Harry started. "Oh, er, yeah, sure we do. Yeah."

"Oh we have a DA meeting tonight?" Parvati asked with rekindling excitement as she recovered herself.

Hermione nodded stiffly and returned to her seat. "Besides that," she continued, "Harry, aren't you supposed to be finishing your homework? You can do it while you eat, you know. It's not hard once you get used to it." She huffed and returned to her _Daily Prophet_. "You-Know-Who attacked Budleigh Babberton village," she announced tersely without looking up.

Harry looked up to the High Table for the first time since he had entered the Great Hall and noticed the empty seat of Dumbledore. Perhaps this explained why he had not shown at midnight for their lesson on wandless magic: he and his Order members had fought off Voldemort and his Death Eaters at Budleigh Babberton. Harry turned back to his shepherd pie, hating himself: even though this was a very valid reason to miss their meeting he still felt a little angry. He had been looking forward to it so much and for so long, and at that moment Budleigh Babberton was quite far from him, an unknown he could easily not mind.

"Anyone we know?" Ron asked in a muffled voice.

"Ron, don't talk with your mouth full!" chided Hermione angrily.

Ron grumbled mutinously but looked cowed nonetheless. Harry thought he had been asking for it, what with Hermione already agitated by Parvati as it was.

"No, it's no one we know," Hermione answered shortly and rustled the newspaper testily.

There was another awkward lull in the air around them. Parvati, though she had been excited seconds prior, seemed afraid to stir the silence – a surprising restraint – and being so quiet she looked out of place more than ever now, especially without her friend Lavender on her side who was still at the Ravenclaw table firing questions at a flabbergasted-looking Cho. Ron was nearly finished with his breakfast, which was perhaps why he was eating at a far slower pace than usual. He probably had no idea of how to look occupied in front of Hermione. He certainly did not want to look up from his plate and bear seeing Draco.

"You know," said Hermione casually when she noticed that Harry was not getting on with his homework, "McGonagall wants that Phase Transition paragraph by today. I'd finish it, if I were you. She doesn't look too cheerful today – not that she does on any other day, mind."

Harry looked back up at the High Table and indeed McGonagall seemed to be cursing witheringly at the very air around her. It was the same expression she had before Dumbledore had announced Snape's death and Harry thought it was because of the empty seat next to her. On the other side of the table Slughorn looked shaken as his beady, watery eyes whizzed down the _Daily Prophet_ with his mouth hanging open uncouthly.

Wishing to keep his free time for the rest of the year and remembering McGonagall's threat to Ron when had failed to produce a satisfactory essay, Harry bent over his rucksack, pulled out his stationery and got to work. As he did so, or attempted to, he did not miss Draco's sneers as he peered down his nose at his botchery of an academic effort. And though Hermione sat on the opposite side of the table and his writing was inverted to her, she held a similar opinion.

"Ooh, Harry, that looks completely unworkable. Maybe you should start from the beginning – there really isn't any improving it."

Harry ground his teeth and glared at her through his fringe while she took out one of her Enchanted Galleons from her pocket. Meanwhile, a few seats away Dean and Ginny were arguing about something, leaving Seamus to meekly eat his breakfast alone. When Harry and the others around him grew quiet again, and perhaps seeing that Harry was now occupied by his homework, Seamus spoke to Draco.

"So, Malfoy, what's your summer like?"

Draco looked up and frowned at Seamus. Harry froze in rather the same way Hedwig had yesterday. Ron scraped his fork loudly on his empty plate.

"What do you mean what's my summer like?" Draco drawled in a bored, lofty voice even which could not temper Seamus' curiosity.

"I mean, how do you spend it? What do you do?" Seamus tried again, placing his hand under his chin.

"Draco, what's this Phase Transition bollocks?" Harry asked as he slid closer to Draco, who turned to his essay and tilted his head to one side and whose frown worsened as though Harry's handwriting was as illegible as Seamus' question was unintelligible. Seamus's face darkened.

Parvati's hand began moving at once under the table as she looked on.

Hermione looked over to Harry's essay from the opposite side of the table. "A Phase Transition is when you cha-" But she stopped when she caught Harry's glare.

"Granger can tell you while I try to understand Finnigan's question," said Draco and turned back to Seamus, whose face promptly transformed from resentful to one of radiant interest.

"How I spend my summer…" Draco wondered slowly. "Well, excluding this year's-"

"What happened this year?" asked Seamus quickly as he widened his eyes attentively as though Draco was just about to reveal the final secret of the universe.

"Draco, do you have your _Quidditch of the Connoisseur_ here?" Harry enquired, at which Ron finally looked up from his plate and frowned at Harry and Draco, who turned back to Harry and gave him an expression that suggested he thought Harry was ready to check into St. Mungo's.

"No, Potter, it's in my trunk-"

"Can I borrow it?"

Parvati's eyes popped. "Fiddling in his trunk," she muttered as her hand whizzed even faster across her lap.

Draco stared at Harry strictly for a moment before he shrugged and very grudgingly agreed. Harry did not miss the sharp intake of breath from Ron.

"What kind of house do you live in? Is it even a house?" Seamus persisted, now with an edge to his voice, obviously struggling to remain polite.

"Is it interesting?" Harry pressed on about Draco's book.

"Of course, Potter. What do you think? It's a collector's edition and it was released not even three years ago." Draco sounded hugely affronted, which was successfully distracting him from Seamus – precisely Harry's aim.

"Do you have house-elves at your house?" Seamus asked a little louder.

"It depends on what you define as interesting," remarked Ron in a quiet voice, speaking up for the first time since Harry and Draco took their seats.

The question Harry had prepared to shoot at Draco without pause died on his tongue as he turned incredulously to Ron. Even Hermione, who had been looking on worriedly as the war of words played out and who had forgotten to activate her Enchanted Galleon, appeared just as taken aback that Ron had offered an opinion.

Dean, looking furious and grumpy, took Seamus strongly by the arm and whispered something in his ear, whereupon Seamus, looking stunned, rose to his feet and left the Great Hall with him. In the meantime Ginny had gone over to the Ravenclaw table and sat with Luna Lovegood. Harry made an odd and very random observation: Ginny's and Seamus' hair were just about the same colour. Ginny's was a flaming ginger and Seamus a loud, darkish-orange curly mop that matched his thick eyebrows.

Harry looked back to Ron. "You were saying, Ron?" he encouraged a little over-excitedly. But he wished to encourage dialogue between him and Draco.

"It's like, I'm sure it's one of those highbrow books that take things way too seriously, like making Quidditch Potions or something," Ron said, before spitting the name of the book superciliously.

Draco took offence at once. "Weasley, I wouldn't expect you to know the first thing about quality material. I suppose you're still reading _Quidditch Through the Ages_, are you?" he asked scathingly.

"So what if I am?" Ron said hotly.

"That book's been outdated for a bloody century, Weasley!" Draco kindly informed him. "I wouldn't expect you to notice quality Quidditch literature if it kicked you in the nuts!"

"Oi!" Harry yelled. "_Ages_ is a fantastic book and I'm sure the _Connoisseur_ one is too! It's just Quidditch, for bloody sake!"

Draco and Ron glared at each other over Harry until Ron broke off eye contact at the same time Harry felt a warm glow in his pocket. He knew instantly that Hermione had activated the Enchanted Galleons.

"I'm sure, Ron, you'd like to read _QC_, right?" Harry asked diplomatically.

Ron's flush extended to his ears as he refused to speak. He returned to entertaining his empty plate, scratching his fork on its clean surface feebly.

"And can I borrow him your book after I've finished with it?" Harry asked Draco, who gave a twitch of his head that might or might not have been a nod. Harry took it that he agreed.

"_Ages_ is nicely comprehensive," remarked Draco dispassionately. Ron's flush subsided slightly.

Throughout the day this tenuous truce showed moments of weakness and strength in others. But what was ever so constant was Draco's mood towards Harry, who, while intermittently fending off various DA members who had felt their Galleons glow but apparently still required confirmation from the leader that the meeting was on, had to endure Draco's proud chin and indifferent expression. Harry was starting to feel at a loss as to what could explain this, though he chiefly suspected that Draco still wanted him to physically evince the fact that he loved him with wandless magic, which Harry thought was decidedly immature. He finally lost his patience just after History of Magic, in which lesson he had slept and was now already groggy and irritable after Hermione interrupted his nap. Not to mention the heat was at its highest in the day.

"Listen, Malfoy!" Harry hissed angrily, Draco's last name slipping out far more effortlessly than his given name. He had Draco by the shoulders and pinned to the wall in a corridor with heavy traffic, but he could not care less. "I'm tired of your bullshit attitude! What the bloody hell do you want from me? You can't still be on about that wandless stuff! Dumbledore didn't pitch – you saw it yourself!"

Draco initially looked astounded that Harry dared embarrass him in such a public place, and indeed a few students ogled at them as they went by, while Ron and Hermione hovered nearby, Hermione looking anxious and Ron viciously satisfied. Draco resumed that flat, blank stare at Harry and softly pulled at the hands fisted around his robes. "Let go of me."

Harry promptly did so and glared even harder in expectation. Draco dusted himself off unnecessarily before he looked squarely at Harry.

"You still don't get it, do you?" he hissed as he narrowed his eyes. "Wandless magic and raw magic are two different things. I don't want you to show me wandless magic – I want you show me your raw magic. I want to know…" He lowered his voice as two pink spots appeared on his cheeks. "…if you love me enough, hm?" With bashful swiftness he made to sweep away from the scene but Harry held him fast again.

"But I can't just do it here! I can't just do it! You said yourself I have to be anxious and angry and all that codswallop!"

A few metres away Parvati and Lavender were moving their hands furiously on their parchments, mouths agape.

"Aren't you angry now?" Draco asked smoothly.

"It's not the same!" Harry hissed, making a passing fourth-year jump out of their socks and squeal as she pounded the floor the other way. She likely thought Harry was speaking in Parseltongue again, and now threatening people with it too.

"Harry, come on, you're making a scene," said Hermione as she stepped closer.

Harry whipped his head round to her, still holding onto Draco's robes. He suspected she held Draco's favour because Draco had been one of the few students who resisted Professor Binn's soporific drone.

There was a camera flash. "Mate, you really don't want to make it worse than it already looks," he advised, giving Colin's fleeing backside a dirty look. "I suspect Parvati and Lavender have hired a photographer for their Howler tabloid project."

Harry caught the metallic shine of Colin's camera before he slipped out of sight. Parvati and Lavender were not so endowed with shame and continued to scribble away with their acid-green quills Harry recognized as the loathed Quick-Quotes Quills, patented by Rita Skeeter. He felt Draco yank his hands loose before the Slytherin began swaggering down the hallway. Harry took a deep breath and tried to rein himself in.

"Let's go," Hermione said as she took his arm, casting a nasty glance at Parvati and Lavender.

"Is he really going to lend you that Quidditch book, Harry?" asked Ron, whose excitement about Quidditch could apparently overlook longstanding enmities, though it was still plain that all Ron thought Draco was worth was this mysterious Quidditch book.

At seven o'clock precisely Hermione reactivated her Enchanted Galleon, and within minutes the DA was assembled in front of Harry in the Room of Requirement. He revealed to them Voldemort's plan for Hogsmeade and naturally the DA looked shaken. For a moment Harry feared they would head straight for the door, refusing to risk their lives or sanity. But displaying the courage that embodied the spirit of their house, they took it in their stride and got to business, practicing their spells diligently.

Hermione introduced them to Combination Spells – Parvati made sure to point out that she had a hand in discovering them – and some other new jinxes and hexes from some books she brought from the library as well as _Useless Magic_ (she threw Harry a dark look when she discovered some of the torn pages from when Harry had desperately searched for spells to make Seamus less funny). Everything went as wonderfully as could be expected. Even Neville brushed up on his spells with help from the stout girl who had opposed the name Kids of the Light for the DA. Wonderfully, that is, until Parvati and Lavender squealed in unison that they wanted to see Harry and Draco go head-to-head in a duel.

"Come again?" Harry said. But he already felt a dawning sense of horror.

"You and Malfoy in a duel!" Parvati and Lavender screamed, followed by a growing rumble of cheers from the rest of the members. Ron looked anxiously around the room. Hermione glared at the Parvati and Lavender.

Harry stood dumbstruck in front of the energized crowd. "I—we—er…" This would not improve things between him and Draco at all, he thought. Defeating and embarrassing Draco was in fact the worst thing that could happen after their argument in the corridor. He turned to Draco, who had not changed his posture and who looked as quietly detached as ever.

"HARRY VERSUS MALFOY! HARRY VERSUS MALFOY! HARRY VERSUS MALFOY!" drummed the students.

"Guys, this is not what we're here for!" Harry shouted.

"HARRY VERSUS MALFOY! HARRY VERSUS MALFOY! HARRY VERSUS MALFOY!"

"We're preparing for Tuesday!"

"HARRY VERSUS MALFOY! HARRY VERSUS MALFOY! HARRY VERSUS MALFOY!"

"We're wasting time!"

"HARRY VERSUS MALFOY! HARRY VERSUS MALFOY! HARRY VERSUS MALFOY!"

"ALL RIGHT!" Draco finally screamed, and silence fell at once. "Potter, get into position. We'll give them what they want. Merlin, I can't believe how crude this school is!"

Hermione clearly shared this opinion but her protest was lost in the thunderous drumming and stomping of feet followed by screams and whoops of elation when Draco strode away from Harry to assume his position. Harry gaped at his back, gathered himself and took his position as well. He could not believe Draco was agreeing to the duel. He suspected Draco was doing so to get back at him for embarrassing him when he had upbraided him in the corridor outside Professor Binn's classroom. Obviously taking him to see Dobby in apology shortly afterwards had meant nothing. And it had been a very delightful and entertaining visit.

The girls were slapping each other's shoulders and whispering feverishly behind their hands. The noise gradually fell when some of the other members shushed them and looked ahead expectantly, making Harry grow nervous.

Hermione's restraint finally baulked. "Really, people, we're wasting precious time with all this duelling nonsense-" She was shushed so fiercely by the entire DA, including the small second-year boy who barely reached anyone's shoulder, she looked as though she had taken a physical blow. Harry gave her a sympathetic wince.

After the students calmed down and gave their last clucks of irritation the deafening silence resumed in which the room stared at the pair in front of them. Harry looked at Draco standing proud at the other end of the dais. Fine, Harry thought. If they were going to do this then he was not going to hold back. Why should he care to spare Draco another moment of humiliation? In any event their duel would give him an opportunity to vent his frustrations on their maker. Harry raised his wand. Draco followed suit a few metres away.

"But shouldn't we have sec-?" Ron began to point out as he stepped forward, but he too was nearly physically assaulted by the DA who threw dirty looks at him for distracting everyone.

Draco took a very flamboyant stance not unlike one Harry had seen in a martial arts film. When neither of them moved for several shivering seconds, Parvati breathlessly broke from the crowd and shrieked, "DUEL!"

"_Incarcerous!_" shouted Harry promptly. Ropes burst from his wand and streaked towards Draco, who instantly yelled,

"_Diffindo!_" An electric-blue whip fell upon the ropes and slashed them in half, and they dropped to the floor like slain snakes. The whip lashed at one of the pouffes near Harry that exploded and covered Harry in feathers. Draco pressed his advantage, moved right and shot another spell through the cloud of feathers, blasting Harry backwards onto his back, whereupon Harry scrambled to get back on his feet, grunting, and magicked away the obscuring feathers.

"_Reducto!_" But Draco had already moved to the side and began shouting another spell.

"_Accio glasses!_"

Harry's spectacles flew off his face and were soaring over to Draco when Harry yelled, "_Impedimenta!_" They slowed down to a halt in the air. Unable to see properly, Harry felt his heart pounding against his chest as he panicked slightly. Draco had attacked his weakest point and they all knew it. He could make out a dark blob shifting from side to side like a shape-shifter. A few metres from them the DA were a single haze of black and scarlet.

"_Flipendo!_" Harry shouted at the dark blob. But there was a brilliant white flash, a metallic clink and a deep vibrating gong.

"_Tarantallegra!_" Harry's feet started jerking at once. He danced across the room, shrieks of laughter following him, and moonwalked the whole way into Draco's groin, on which he began to grind himself provocatively. Deep gasps and murmurs from the scandalized crowd broke out amidst the shrieks of delight from the girls spearheaded by Parvati and Lavender.

Draco pushed him off and pointed his wand at his backside. "_Flipendo!_" He sent Harry sailing through the air, out of which he plucked his glasses at the same time and landed on the other side of the room on his extremely misbehaving bum. He rushed to his feet for the second time, jammed his glasses back onto his face – though his vision was little improved due to the fact that his vision was shimmering from the heat in his face like the air above a road baking in the sun.

"_Expecto Patronum!_" A great ghostly stag charged out of Harry's wand and pointed its antlers at Draco, who paled and ran for it even though the Patronus could not physically harm him. Harry took aim at the retreating cashmere-clad backside. "_Furnunculus!_" Draco ran harder and screamed as boils erupted on his face and flailing arms.

"_Conjunctivitis!_"Draco shrieked distractedly in a trembling voice. But his jinx came nowhere hear Harry and hit the wall behind him. He moaned the counter spell at the afflicted areas of his body, at which point the huge boils subsided just as the Harry's stag shimmered out of existence.

Harry did not give him time to sigh in relief. "_Expelliarmus!_" he shouted.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Draco shrieked as well, and the spells clashed with a deep _BOOSH!_ The impact reverberated across the entire room and gasps and screams of the DA were swallowed by the raging noise. Even the boundless ceiling of the room seemed to shake. Sparks spitting like a live cable danced around the point where the spells met and filling the room within the deafening sound of a rushing waterfall. Harry's robes billowed furiously around him as his wand vibrated almost painfully in his hands, which could barely keep hold of it.

Opposite him Draco was a vision of white shock: his silver-blond hair rippled in the air as though being blast by a very powerful hairdryer, and his already pale face was illuminated and scrunched against the incandescent white light of the cackling sphere between him and Harry. The floor beneath the nucleus of the spells burned white-hot and melted before everyone's eyes. Seeing that things were getting out of control, Harry swung both arms upwards with all his might, breaking the connection. A shrill whistling noise filled the room as the erupting white sphere sucked itself in and then dissipated in a swirling mist, leaving the room suddenly quiet.

"_Stupefy!_"

Draco slid aside and the spell hit the door of the Room of Requirement.

"_Confundus!_" Draco yelled.

Harry swooped low to his feet and ducked the spell, which sailed above his head and hit the wall behind. "_Petrificus Totalus!_" he countered. Draco twirled sideways out of the way and advanced on him with his wand at his side. Harry's heart thundered. "_Rictusempra!_" he shouted. Draco dodged it elegantly and still he did not strike, his face bereft of humour, silver eyes as dead as lead.

"_Aguamenti!_"

"_Reducto!_"

"_Flipendo!_"

Harry shot these and every other spell that occurred to him as Draco advanced still without launching even one spell on him. He danced around Harry's curses as though the floor were an ice rink, a sinuous feline pressing himself against the air, sliding into it and coaxing its support, which it lent helplessly. With increasing desperation hexes and jinxes and curses streamed forth from Harry's lips but returned him no profits, for Draco was suddenly upon him, and all Harry could see was silver… He saw eyes of silver, oceans of pure, still silvery waters… It was all he could consider, all he could imagine, all he could see… Then the face drew back, and Harry saw those thin beloved lips. They curved slowly and beautifully into each of the pale, hollow cheeks. The tongue slithered forth, the face drew nearer again, and against his own face those soft, shell-pink lips breathed his defeat into his mouth.

"_Stupefy._"

In a blaze of blue light and seemingly staggering, choking time, the lights left Harry's eyes, and he was falling backwards… Arms slipped around him, a body pressed against him, and he was spiralling to the floor, slowly and lifelessly… In a fluid motion Draco knelt down and softly laid Harry onto the floor before he stood up, swept his gaze across the DA members, glided across the room and slipped out the door.

* * *

"And then he kissed him and softly laid him onto the floor," Lavender crooned, passionately waving her carrot stick in the air, attempting to recreate the gracefulness of the moment about which they spoke. "It was so beautiful!"

"I _did _tell you to join the club," Parvati said to one of the girls listening in raptly, "but what did you say to me? 'Daniel's taking up all my time.' Didn't you guys break up two days ago? You missed the most romantic duel ever for nothing! Wow… The things I could do to this carrot right now...!" The girls around her and Lavender looked scandalized. One of them, mouth agape, could not believe what she was hearing and slapped Parvati on the shoulder with the _Evening Prophet _on the table.

Harry was trying very hard not to hear them but his ears proved impertinent: they picked up on every single word Parvati spewed to her audience about that disastrous duel an hour ago. It was the fourth time she combed over every single detail for those who were willing to listen to what they had already seen and others who had just joined them. And judging by the piece of parchment on her desk with the heading "The Hogwarts Howler – First Edition – Planning," many more were going to hear of what happened in the Room of Requirement today.

Hermione had to fend off numerous approaches by Parvati and Lavender to get Harry to give them a first-hand account of the entire duel with Draco. And another was underway.

"Sorry, girls," said Hermione, holding up her hand haltingly at the pair. "But Harry's not prepared to give you your scoop in addition to having duelled in the first place by your request."

"Look, who put you in charge of him? You're not his rep!" Lavender lashed out in frustration.

"That may be but I happen to be one of the few people to have Harry's best interests at heart," Hermione replied coolly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Parvati, feigning hurt and indignation. "Of course we have Harry's best interests at heart!"

"And we are very _interested_ in what he has to say about the duel!" concluded Lavender.

Hermione huffed. "But Harry's not interested in speaking to you!"

"Why doesn't he tell us himself?" Parvati suggested, looking around Hermione at Harry while Lavender clicked her fingers at Colin Creevey, who promptly brandished his camera from who knew where and started prowling towards Harry. Not bothering with being polite, Harry left his things and ran up to the boys' dormitory. Colin's short legs outdid themselves as they allowed him to keep up with Harry, chasing him with flashes up the staircase.

Harry leaned on the door after throwing it shut and tried valiantly to keep his eyes away from the sight of Draco obliviously doing his homework on Dean's bed. A muscle in Harry's jaw jumped at the memory of him grinding his bum into Draco. This ignominious moment even overshadowed the fact that he lost the duel. Harry could not understand why Draco had agreed to the duel in the first place and then kissed the spell that finished him in his mouth, handing him a defeat similar to that Nott had suffered, with the same ring of finality, as though Draco knew he would win, thought Harry was as predictable as Nott. Was Draco playing mind games with him? Was he trying to confuse him and throw him off?

Draco had closed off again. Once more he was unpredictable, inexplicable and like an enigma all over again when only the previous in his room he had opened up for the first time and told Harry that when he said he loved him it made him feel good and tingly all over. Draco had shivered, smiled and closed his eyes as though Harry's words had filled him to the brim with pleasure and happiness. But that was over now, and it was back to the Draco of before.

How could Harry pry him open again? How could he bring back that childish, immature, playful Draco who was so enjoyable, so sweet and so beautiful that Harry did not know what to do with himself? But he knew the answer already: he had to satisfy him by demonstrating his love for him. The only problem was that Harry had no idea of how to do this. He had not been able to do it in Draco's new room and he was not able to do so now.

He returned to the common room and resumed his homework. Seamus, who apparently had forgotten his resentment towards him, was shooting him gossipy looks from the other side of the table, undoubtedly itching to quiz Harry about the Duel of the Year, as dubbed by Dean. And the only thing that impressed his dark-skinned friend Dean was the actual duel, the exchange of spells and the play of the spell-lights and not what Harry's bums had done to Draco or what Draco's lips had done to Harry.

Ron was resolutely concentrating on his homework as Parvati loudly recounted the duel, but his ears had flooded with a pink colour. But he would light up when Dean repeatedly gave an animated re-enactment of the spells, moves and all the sound effects of the duel. Consequently he gave off inconsistent vibes to Harry, who was quite content with never speaking of this particular DA meeting ever again. Hermione, who was working on a separate table, was stoically engaged in her homework, though Harry noticed that her lips pressed upon each other so hard they had disappeared altogether, and her writing grew fierce and erratic whenever shrieks and squeals followed Parvati's low, steamy voice from the other side of the common room.

"And he was like water on air, you know," Parvati was whispering, "dodging Harry's spells like he was made for it. And then he just came up to him-" At this point she drew breath through her teeth lustfully and a shiver ran up her body, too absorbed in her tale to notice that Harry had returned from the dormitory. "-came up close to him, and he was right in his face, yeah, and then he just looked at him right in the eyes like he wanted to lose himself in them and then he kissed him!" And she and her audience swooned.

A few hours later when they entered the dormitory they found Draco doing his homework diligently – parchments, books and ink wells sprawled around him on Dean's bed haphazardly almost as did not befit him. Harry, Dean, Seamus and Neville scattered to their individual beds.

"Can I borrow your QC magazine?" Harry asked Draco as he threw his rucksack on top of Draco's trunk. He had spoken without looking at Draco directly – the defeat of the duel still stung, not to mention the booty grind. Oh, the booty grind – the mother of all ignominies… And to think he had reserved the Very Funky Chicken Jinx for Draco which would have caused him to do something similar – what an ignominious irony.

Draco turned to him and gave him a stern glare. The words he spoke next seemed to be wrenched out of him. "In that trunk. And get your bag off it please. And by the way it's not a magazine and it's not called 'QC.'"

Harry slid his rucksack to the floor and lifted Draco's trunk. To the side was a small green chest on top of which were the words 'Potion Masters' embossed across the lid. Beneath the ornate silver tin Harry discovered contained metallic quills was a ream of rich-looking pale-gold parchment. From underneath some other books Harry slipped out a thin scarlet one with gold cursive print on the cover reading _Quidditch of the Connoisseur: Special Collector's Edition_ by Thibault Bonfils.

His mouth watering, Harry slammed the trunk lid closed and bolted to Ron's bed. Ron hastily made room for him and eyed the book lustfully. Ron seemed to go through a transformation from then on. Though one could hardly call it an amnesty, for Ron still did not give Draco the time of day – nor did Draco ask for it – Ron grew a little less hostile towards Draco. He and Harry were thoroughly entertained by the moving colour photos (the book was ahead of its time, no question about it), animations and sometimes even holograms that leapt beyond the boundaries of the pages.

They could not keep this Bible-like wonder of a book to themselves of course, and Dean, Neville and Seamus too laughed along as they watched a long-moving photo capturing a moment in the oldest versions of the Wizarding sport wherein the Americans had thought themselves smart and invented 'Quodpot'. And one more than a few occasions Ron's bed curtains caught fire whenever a Quaffle exploded, which irritated Draco immensely but utterly delighted the rest of them.

In a single stroke with this one book Draco endeared himself to just about the whole of Gryffindor House in the space of three days, for his _Quidditch of the Connoisseur_ made the rounds very swiftly. It was still true that he was not exactly a Household name. Draco did not acknowledge the Gryffindors' acceptance of him in any way but remained stoic and dispassionate except towards Ron and Hermione slightly (he had actually struck a conversation with Hermione about Arithmancy, and Ron had actually approached him and asked him something from his Quidditch book. Draco answered him if not gladly.). But Draco was otherwise like something that merely reacted: he did not initiate interaction and towards Harry remained as indifferent as before.

McGonagall grew snappy and even terser than usual – something even Hermione conceded was hard to contend with (looking appalled by McGonagall for the first time Harry could remember, she complained, "How does she expects us to finish a twelve-inch essay together with this massive Object Op chapter we have to read and top of that prepare for practicals in all of two days?"). By the end of the week they had mountains of work just for Transfiguration.

Thankfully Slughorn had been none the wiser and persisted in his jolly and aloof fashion, giving them a more than manageable mount for homework and even less for the weekend. Moody rarely gave homework but his lessons became much more intense; many a student emerged from his classroom missing eyebrows, hair, accessories or some parts of their clothing. This occurred with increasing frequency as the days passed. Things were not made any easier by Dumbledore's absence, which, on a breezy Monday morning Harry would never forget, was finally explained.

* * *

**DUMBLEDORE KILLED**

Thaddeus Helper

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was murdered on Ministry of Magic premises yesterday at approximately 20:00.

Dumbledore's mauled and bloodied body was found lying in the Atrium where blood streaked across the floor, according to a Ministry worker who wished to remain anonymous for fear of losing his job. "He was done up rather badly. It was a gruesome scene I never would've imagined seeing," the worker said.

Dumbledore was the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Famously known for his legendary defeat over Grindelwald in 1945, he also discovered the twelve uses of dragon blood. He is featured on many sweet delicacies of which he was known to be fond, including Chocolate Frogs and Chummy Chew-Chocs. He held the position of Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards for a record seven decades and had numerous other honours including Grand Sorcerer and most notably Order of Merlin, First Class.

His applaud-worthy accolades notwithstanding, Dumbledore was also known to be a great champion of Harry Potter, who began spreading rumours of the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Dumbledore's death is believed by many revivers to be his handiwork.

Via FlooPort Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge yesterday said to the _Prophet_ that Dumbledore's murder was a "terrible atrocity that has robbed us of the genuinely inspiring light of Albus Dumbledore". Minister Fudge would not be drawn to the question of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's possible return.

"It is inarguable that [Dumbledore] was a great man of course. But towards the end of his time he had proven a little off the cauldron as we all know, what with bleating on about the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and always covering up for Potter's flagrant muck-ups. But let us put petty politics aside and not fault him for the mistakes he may have committed towards his very old end. It was understandable, you see – I could fit my age four times in his," he said.

Minister Fudge declined to offer his explanation for Dumbledore's murder but maintained that it is not the work of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

"What remains is that the world will miss Dumbledore dearly," Minister Fudge continued, adding that the Auror squad…

* * *

"Is on top of thing!" Harry exploded, throwing the special edition _Daily Prophet_ on the floor and alarming the students closest to him. "THEY'RE ALWAYS 'ON TOP OF THINGS!'"

"Harry, get a hold of yourself!" Hermione hissed, her eyes darting towards the rest of the watching Great Hall. "Don't make a-"

"Why shouldn't I?" Harry bellowed hysterically. "They've been feeding us this 'Auror Squad is on top of things' BULLSHIT since the shit hit the fan! And that fuckin' Fudge! He couldn't even bear a moment of commis-!"

"Mr Potter!" McGonagall shouted from the High Table. "Do control yourself this instant!"

She was on her feet. Her eyes were red and her hands were fisted at her sides. Several chairs down the table, Professor Sprout burst into tears. Slughorn patted her back with a sorrowful grimace. Beside him, however, Hagrid was still squinting at the newspaper and seemed to struggle with understanding what was in it that had upset one of his colleagues.

It suddenly hit the Great Hall. The students gasped and whimpered and whispered and pointed at the paper in their hands in disbelief. And the very next moment came an ear-piercing shriek from the great doors. A girl student burst into the Great Hall, her eyes bulging and filled with horror.

"Prof—Dumble—the sc—school gate," she stuttered before she collapsed in front of everyone.

Maniacally Harry ran for the doors, jumped over the girl's body, hurtled down the corridor, the stairs, barrelled through the doors of the Entrance Hall, streaked past the greenhouses, and before he could even start down the driveway spied the figure hanging on the school gates. His knees gave way and Harry fell to the cobblestone beneath him. His lungs shrunk and he could not breathe. His body began to shake almost as though his howling pain had taken physical form and was racking his body. In the distance, in the very breeze that ruffled his very hair, Dumbledore's silver waist-length beard swayed lifelessly.


	32. Remission

**Chapter 32**

**Remission**

Harry heard vague shuffling and gasps somewhere behind him. There was a hand on his shoulder, but all Harry had eyes for was the figure in star-strewn and blood-splattered robes of midnight blue and the blue eyes he could see no longer.

"NO!" McGonagall cried as she lost the little self-control she had left. There was more shuffling followed by heavy footsteps before Hagrid's eclipse one side of Harry's field of vision as he came into view.

"Professor, wussamatter?" Hagrid said with a confused frown. "What—we… Is that? Is that Dumbledore…?" He lumbered down the driveway towards Dumbledore's mutilated body hanging from the top of the gate of his own school.

"Come on, Harry, you don't need to see this," Hermione whispered to Harry in a voice so fraught with tremors it was almost unintelligible to Harry. He limply shook the hand off his shoulder – he did not want to go anywhere. He heard her say Ron's name, hoping he would do a better job persuading his friend to move. But Harry neither felt a touch from the redhead nor heard him hear speak, perhaps as mesmerized as he was by the sight in the distance, towards which Hagrid ran howling wildly as Harry had never him howl before.

"DUMBLEDORE!"

There came another, more hesitant touch to Harry's shoulder, and instantly he knew whose hand it was.

"Let's go, Harry."

Harry took the proffered hand and allowed it to lead him through the throng of mourning students towards Gryffindor Tower. He did not emerge from his bed for hours and slept underneath Draco, lying on him as lifelessly as Dumbledore had against the school gate. Draco kept trying to hold him comfortingly, stroking him, weaving his hand through his hair, kissing him. But he did not understand that Harry wanted none of it. Draco did not understand that he was making things worse. Harry just wanted him to be, beside him, not to move but just be as a still and sturdy bastion of comfort. He had to turn his head to the other side whenever Draco resumed his caring gestures.

When Draco finally attempted to speak Harry shushed him quietly. Draco fell silent and he did not move again, which, it seemed, compelled Harry to move in compensation. But his movements were haphazard and purposeless and he ended up writhing pointlessly on top of Draco. He stroked Draco's side, slid his lips across the crook of the pale neck, slipped his legs over Draco's restlessly. He did not know what to do with himself. He unbuttoned and buttoned back Draco's robes, pushed them off and pulled them on again. His mind was miles away. Finally he stopped moving as well, sighed tiredly into Draco's neck and whispered, "I told him I loved him."

He felt the neck muscles tauten as Draco pulled back to get a look at him.

"I told him I loved him. I shouldn't have."

"Why?" Draco asked softly.

"I shouldn't have told him I loved him – it was like saying goodbye. I was saying goodbye. I shouldn't have let him go. He shouldn't have gone. Fauss said Voldemort controlled the Ministry…"

"Harry, shut up. You couldn't have known."

"_He's got better things to spend his time on, like getting rid of Dumbledore…"_

"_You'll be dead before you even set foot in the Ministry!"_

"_What if Dumbledore doesn't survive the Ministry? What if they kill him; that one hand of his is no good?"_

"I shouldn't have told him…" Harry closed his eyes, struggling to breath and trying to hold in the miserable howl that threatened to tip off his emotional maelstrom. A few moments of silence later he said quietly, "This was what he wanted, you know."

"What's this?" Draco sad as he tried to manoeuvre himself into view of Harry's face.

"Back when the Order and them were there, and your parents. He said you were gonna be living with Sirius in the holidays. And I didn't know the password of your room but when I used your name it worked. The Slytherins didn't attack me until I said it. Why? And yesterday when we went into the Great Hall and he saw us – he looked so happy, for us. And he wanted us to do the lesson together, remember? He wanted us to be together all along. He was always for us. He didn't just want me to learn wandless magic and be powerful."

Draco said nothing to all of this and remained limp under Harry, who tinkered with Draco's overly large silver watch and ran his finger along the back on the engraved words which read _Ke pediša ke wêna fêla_.

"I think so too," Draco said finally. "He let me go out for you when you went nutters on the Quidditch pitch last week. I think they're almost the same thing… I think he wanted you to have something to fight for."

"What?" asked Harry, after a short pause.

Draco hesitated for the slightest of moments shifted warily before he said, "I mean, he wanted us to be together so that you could get stronger because, you know, if I was in danger, you could…"

Harry raised himself off Draco slightly and stared into his eyes as he waited for Draco to finish his sentence. When Draco dared not carry on in his train of thought, Harry, whispered with quiet disbelief, "Draco, how can you…DUMBLEDORE IS DEAD! DIDN'T YOU SEE HIM? AND ALL YOU CAN THINK ABOUT ME PROVING TO YOU I LOVE YOU? HAVE YOU NO CONSCIENCE?"

"I have a conscience!" Draco shot back, bracing himself against the bed. "But I was just saying maybe he wanted it like this! I know you love me but I've never felt it! I just want to know if it's real!"

Harry could not believe his ears. He did not know what to think anymore. His eyes swam as he stared at Draco, who stared back with equally tearful eyes. How could that be if he did not have a conscience? Why was Draco so determined to make Harry prove himself? The answer seemed to come to him before the question had entered his mind. Because he had never felt love? He had parents: a mother who loved him and read him stories of caution. And his father. He might not be the most expressive parent in the world but he still loved him and had proved it – Draco must have known that.

But even Dobby had alluded to the asperity and coldness of the Manor. Even a house-elf had picked up the loveless air and knew that things were not overtly spoken or showed. There were never overreactions or indeed a freedom to express oneself to one's discretion. He was looking at a Slytherin here, Harry thought. Was the concept of unconditional love so foreign to Draco that he felt he needed proof? If so, what a time to bring it up on Dumbledore's death. Then again Draco had never had much love for Dumbledore, Harry reminded himself.

He sat up onto his heels and looked blankly down at Draco, who scrambled to his haunches as well.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Draco pleaded urgently, "but I just want to know for sure." His hand reached across the bed and ran through Harry's wild, raven hair. "I'm sorry about Dumbledore. I know how much he meant to you. I'm sorry about what happened to him." The hand fell limply to his side when Harry did not encourage it. They sat in silence for a time until they heard shuffling noises nearing the dormitory. A moment later Professor McGonagall swept into the room.

"Potter? I need to speak to you."

Draco took his wand and flicked it at the bed curtains, which parted to reveal a harassed-looking Professor McGonagall approaching their bed. She blinked at Draco when she noticed him and looked at Harry, who offered no explanation.

"Mr Potter," she carried on in a sniff as she clasped her hands. "I know this must be a hard time for you as well but you need to continue with your lessons nevertheless. You've already missed the first two but you can attend the rest. We should not let Dumbledore's death hinder our progress. Time moves on and in time we will as well."

She looked away, perhaps not trusting her eyes enough not to wander in Draco's direction. The lines around her lips drew together. Harry thought she should take her own advice.

"I should also tell you that since I'm now headmistress, I have decided to bury Professor Dumbledore on the Hogwarts grounds in agreement with the rest of the staff. The date of the funeral shall be determined later." She searched within her robe and produced a vial labelled with his name and filled with a white, wispy tendril. "We found this on Dumbledore's person. It has your name on it."

Harry took the vial and stared at it. McGonagall dabbed her eyes and her lips pursed severely. A few strands of hair had loosened themselves from her tight bun. "And Miss Granger wishes to speak to you," she went on. "She's waiting outside. Well, good day, Potter, Mr Malfoy." She was on her way to the door when she turned around suddenly. "And do not think you're going to miss the rest of the day, Potter. And you as well, Mr Malfoy. What is covered today may appear in your OWLs." After giving them a stern glare McGonagall left the room.

Harry did not question why she had not said anything about finding Draco in his bed. He stared at the memory that danced inside the vial. It had just been removed from Dumbledore's body. What could it hold? He looked up at Draco, whose eyes rose from the vial he was holding to meet his eyes. Harry waited a few seconds after the door had clicked shut after McGonagall before he headed out and entered the common room, where Hermione and Ron sat rigidly in their scarlet armchairs in front of the fireplace.

"Harry," Hermione said when she heard his footsteps on the stairs. "How are you doing?"

Ron wore a grim and doleful expression as he fidgeted. Harry shrugged. "What's that in your hand?" he asked.

Hermione looked down at the parchment in her hands and gave it to Harry. "I thought something like this would happen when this letter didn't self-detonate like all the others."

Harry took the note and found it to be one of Dumbledore's letters. It told Ron and Hermione not to worry about him while he was in the Slytherin dungeons with Draco. On its reverse was one long, unbroken block of more of Dumbledore's thin writing in dark-green ink. Harry's mind could not take it all in – he barely understood any random Potions text, which was likely at least paragraphed. It seemed Dumbledore wanted to leave a lot of information for which he had not had space.

"There are instructions on where to find You-Know-Who's Horcruxes and what they possibly are. He also says where he hid some of the books he had confiscated from the library long ago that give some information about Horcruxes in his office. I still have Malfoy's Killing Curse excerpt also."

Harry stared at the slanting penmanship. He was holding the secret to destroying Voldemort in his hands. He stowed the note in his robe and showed Ron and Hermione the vial Professor McGonagall had handed him. They threw around a few ideas on what the memory could be but had to stop when some students started trickling into the common room. The Gryffindors looked traumatized. Some whispered among each other while others were wordless. Harry did not wish to be around people at the moment and without saying anything to Ron and Hermione he went back to his bed and forewent classes, heedless of McGonagall's words.

Lying next to Draco under his sheets, never once touching him, Harry thought about Dumbledore, Voldemort and Draco. So it was with a tediously garnered and refined frame of mind that he emerged at around four o'clock out of the dormitory. He wanted to visit Hagrid: he grabbed his friends and travelled to his hut on the grounds. They found Hagrid weeping countless buckets of tears and did their best to comfort him. But after refusing his rock cakes for the seventh time – Hagrid's mind was all over the place – they said goodbye a rather short while later and strolled back towards the castle. Harry spied the school gate from faraway and did not see Dumbledore's body.

"Last DA meeting tomorrow," he said matter-of-factly. "How are we going to sneak the whole of the DA into Hogsmeade?"

"Well, Harry, I don't think every single member's going to turn up, really," Hermione said. "I think they were just going along for the ride and flattering us. You saw them yourself: they were scared – I'd be surprised if even half of them show up. I mean, we're talking about werewolves here and possibly being turned."

For some reason he was numb to the sting of disappointment the reality to which Hermione referred attempted to bring him. "So how many do you think are gonna show up then?"

"Hard to say," replied Hermione. "I think we can rule out the majority of the Hufflepuffs, some of the Ravenclaw and a few of our own."

"How are we going to protect ourselves against being bitten?" Ron asked with a slight tremor in his voice.

"Well," said Hermione in business mode, "I've been thinking of these Disillusionment Charms I read about in some Charmery book – that's advanced Charms at university level. We could use those."

"But werewolves are magical creatures, Hermione," Ron moaned. "They'll see right through it!"

"I didn't say that's the only thing we'll be using!" snapped Hermione. "As I said, I'm working on something and I would appreciate it if you two helped!"

Ron looked like he regretted opening his mouth.

"So it all comes down to this," Harry said. "And I have to mind Voldemort – can't touch him for now."

He spent the night with Ron and Hermione in the library researching any and all pieces of Defensive magic that ever existed which they could use. Harry had not asked Draco if he wanted to come as the Slytherin was a grey area for now and it was presumed he was not going to come. Harry remembered Ron's words which he could not help but think rang true: _"Well, we can certainly count on Malfoy not showing up. He wouldn't want to spoil his royal pure blood."_

When Pince had to hunt them down and kick them out of the library close to eleven o'clock in the evening they journeyed up to Gryffindor Tower and went straight to bed. Draco slept with Harry without requiring coercion this time. Yet Harry could not have felt farther from him.

* * *

All was quiet in the fifth-year male dormitory save for the soft snores coming from Neville's bed. Behind it the window spilled a square patch of pale moonlight onto the floor and partly onto the bed in which slept Harry and Draco. But the latter did not appear tranquil. In fact, the long strands of silver-blond hair as thrown from side to side, fluttering restlessly like seaweed in water. It was not because Draco was suffering nightmares, for then, quite awake, he turned yet again in the bed and faced the shock of jet-black hair belonging to his bedfellow.

His grey eyes, as greyish pale as the moon that illuminated the room, fixed upon the bit of skin they could see of Harry's face. A thin hand with long, graceful fingers slowly and hesitantly reached towards the sleeping face and the wild hair. But then it froze in mid-air. The silver eyes narrowed, the pale ears raised, poised in suspicion to hear something. And sure enough a sound floated into them from the other end of the room: a series of sharp exhalations in a regular rhythm. Draco's pristine brow furrowed and he raised himself slightly with his elbow and squinted over his shoulder through the scarlet bed curtains. And with the feeble help of the moonlight he seemed to see, past the empty second bed, some figure moving back and forth on the bed. And only a moment later he caught a breathy whisper whence slept Dean and Seamus.

"Tell me. Tell me we're going to be all right, Dean," whispered Seamus as his body rocked back and forward, exhaling sharply with each thrust.

"We – will be – all – right," Dean panted, punctuating his words with a pump of his dark-skinned hips into Seamus' pale backside. And there was the sound of a kiss. "Have I told you how much I love your hair?"

Two blond eyebrows rose and melded with a silver-blond hairline. For several seconds to follow Draco laid in the bed with his body twisted around as he looked towards the other bed, a look of astonishment on his face but also a trace of understanding. He twisted back and propped his head on his hand as he supported himself with his elbow and stared slightly dolefully at the misbehaving mop of black hair next to him. Minutes passed and he lay there, still staring at the face he could not see. The hand that had meant to explore forward now worried the edge of the emerald silk pyjama shirt.

But a look of determination dawned on his face. The hand rose again, seemingly reawakened by its earlier purpose, and moved towards the other body, over the hips, and landed awkwardly on the waist of the green, threadbare Snitch pyjamas, where it rested, trembling slightly and fidgeting restlessly. Draco heaved himself off the bed and softly slid towards the warm body. He extended his neck over the shoulder of the sleeping form to see the quiescent face, the chest rising and falling softly. Smoothly, he swung Harry's hip, flattened his legs and arranged his arms very carefully so that Harry's body faced him perfectly. He then fluttered downward and pasted himself on top of Harry from chest to legs like a slice of warm cheese onto a sandwich, with Harry's legs lying inside Draco's. Then Draco simply stared at Harry's face.

His eyes seemed to read every line of the face, studying it painstakingly, hungrily, as though they had starved themselves of this during the day when Harry was awake, when he would notice. As though they would never get this opportunity again. Roaming around the raven hair, across the smooth brow offended by the lightning-bolt scar and the dark eyebrows, down to the sheathed bulge of the closed eyes and the strong, sharp nose, across to the innocent-looking cheeks, down to the pink, unexceptionable lips, and finally to the equally unremarkable chin. The grey eyes swam back up to the closed eyes, at which point Harry blasted Draco with warm breath through his nose before turning his head aside, his Adam's apple bopping.

Harry's chin tucked into Draco's neck. His legs attempted to fold together and his elbows wanted to tuck into his stomach but Draco held onto the limbs with soft but firm pressure. When Harry subsided again Draco's hands continued to the narrow waist of Harry's pyjama pants and pulled them down. His Snitch underwear followed, revealing a tuft of curly ebony hair. Draco laid his weight on top of Harry, trapping Harry underneath him while his hands slipped Harry's underwear and pants past his knees. His peachy thighs glimmered dimly in the moonlight.

Nimble fingers unbuttoned the shirt, sharp knuckles brushing the warm skin beneath. Harry, exposed from the waist down, slept on. The last button was undone and the hands parted the shirt, revealing the lightly-tanned torso to smouldering, grey eyes.

Harry's wrist twitched. His fully naked body was prey to Draco's eyes, and devour they did. Harry turned his head to one side and he gave a drawn-out sigh as his eyelashes fluttered briefly. His breathing was growing slightly heavy. Then his head jerked as Draco cast his shirt aside and lay on top of him, bare chest against bare chest. Draco whispered comforting nothings and brushed the unkempt hair off the forehead, which sparkled with small beads of sweat. Draco kissed Harry's jaw, his hair brushing softly against Harry's chest.

Harry's head jerked again sideways and bumped into Draco's but still he did not wake from his dreams. Rubbing his forehead, Draco drew back and frowned at the action of Harry's eyes wriggling under his eyelids. His breathing was growing erratic as well. He sighed sharply. Draco brushed his hair, below them his partially erect penis sandwiched between him and Harry. Draco snuggled his face into the crook of Harry's neck, slipped his arms under Harry and slowly began sliding back and forth. Harry gasped. His chest jerked and his head rose off the bed. But Draco held him more tightly and closed his eyes shut as though praying and continued to slide upon Harry.

"He's not a pretty whore," Harry mumbled and Draco froze, eyes bursting open. The creaking, thumping, slapping noises and gasping breaths from Dean's bed ceased as well. Draco's chest was still against Harry's, silver-blond hair barely stirring.

"Dumbledore…"

Draco did not move, hearing the whispered name of the dead headmaster.

"Draco…"

Draco said nothing, perhaps too afraid to speak, perhaps afraid he would disturb Harry. And as suddenly as Harry spoke Draco looked down between them: Harry's penis was stirring, swelling, hardening. As dim as the moonlight was, it was quite easy to spy two burning spots of purple on Draco's cheeks.

"Draco… Draco… Draco."

Draco was breathing hard through his nose as Harry's penis throbbed against them. "Harry," Draco whispered back. "Harry." And still he did not follow up his speech with any action with conviction.

"Dumbledore."

It was the second time Harry whispered Dumbledore's name and Draco was clearly growing increasingly panicked. "Harry?"

Harry made an odd sort of noise at the back of his throat before a small smile curved the ends of his lips upwards. Draco swallowed, visibly alarmed. Harry jerked again, almost moving completely off the bed, causing Draco to recoil but the Slytherin managed to keep himself on top of Harry. Harry smiled again and made another guttural noise as though he were just about to laugh. 'Was Harry having a nightmare?' Draco asked himself. 'Or a pleasant dream?' Because Harry's reactions were quite disparate, evinced by another smile from Harry, at which point Draco's head tilted sideways, grey eyes curious. The smile broadened and rounded the cheeks. As it slowly disappeared, Draco cautiously put his head back into the crook of Harry's neck and his hands beneath Harry's back.  
_  
_"Yes."

"Yes what?" asked Draco, whispering the question in a way that suggested he did not expect an answer.

"I love you."

It was Draco who now jerked suddenly. Again his ears piqued like a meerkat standing on its hind legs and straightening to listen for danger. Harry turned his head into Draco's face and smiled against it, and Draco smiled back.

He looked down at his watch – 20:10 – just four more hours to go.

'Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was murdered on Ministry of Magic premises yesterday at approximately 20:00.'

"You'll be dead before you even set foot in the Ministry!"

"What if Dumbledore doesn't survive the Ministry? What if they kill him?"

Draco's hand slid out from underneath Harry and came up to his hair.

_…The mist in the air seemed to take the outline of a phoenix against the vast blackness._

…He finally persuaded Draco to join him to the headmaster's office, on the doors of which he knocked several times, but from beyond no answer came.

Draco kissed Harry on the lips and gently ruffled his hair. _In the distance, in the very breeze that ruffled his very hair, Dumbledore's silver waist-length beard swayed lifelessly. _

Harry catapulted out of sleep and jerked off the bed, nearly dislodging Draco, who jumped back and landed on Harry's lap.

"You were having a nightmare," Draco said at once defensively.

Harry breathed hard, his chest heaved and his brilliant green eyes were popping out of his head. Draco stretched to the bedside drawer and took Harry's glasses, sat back on Harry's lap – Harry could feel Draco's cold scrotum on his thighs – and slid them on his face. Harry blinked a few times, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and only became aware of their state then.

Without meaning to, he jumped back as though Draco's skin had shocked him and he instinctively covered up his bits and his legs drew together chastely. He had never felt so violated in his entire life, even after what happened after the Slytherins ambushed him on the fifth floor and had forced Draco to sodomize him in front of them. At least he had been aware of it.

He felt sheepish after reacting as instinctually as he had. If there was one person in the world with whom he should be comfortable it was Draco – he was the only person who had the right to see him naked.

"Wha—how—Why are we naked?" Harry asked, his voice going up an octave.

"Because I took our clothes off."

Indeed Harry spotted his pyjamas bundled up with Draco's besides Draco's legs. They looked very far away and irretrievable. Harry looked back to Draco and swallowed. His body could not feel more awake, more sensitive, more open and exposed. And he thanked the heavens that they were cast in concealing, if partial, darkness. Before Draco came into the picture – or rather until Harry brought him into the picture – Harry had not regarded his body as something other than mechanical and subject to aesthetic judgement. Now more than ever before he was painfully aware of his skinniness, meagre height, enormous, unfashionable glasses, unkempt hair, knobbly knees and his large collection of scars. Comparison was so easy to make in their totally nude states. And Draco was glorious.

Even though he was as thin as Harry, he was svelte and elegant, something which Harry could claim about himself laughably. He also thought the dominant one in the relationship had to be robustly butch and masculine enough to be able to protected the submissive one and satisfy the expectations of their partners (an old and worn image of an enormous man with black leather jacket, pants and boots resembling a biker with his humungous, heavily tattooed arm wrapped around his miniature, almost helpless girlfriend as they walked into a bar always sprang into his mind whenever this shame of his would surface).

_"There was nothing you could've done. You couldn't have overpowered those half-trolls. I mean look at you… You still didn't do enough to protect me!"_

Although he knew Draco said these words in a furious and emotional state – he had just survived death – the words still penetrated him painfully.

His glasses were something he had never seen as a potential source of embarrassment. And his scars… Although they did not lift his physical appeal, and though they were reminders of some horrid memories he would rather forget, Harry thought that they were still stories to be told, to entertain with even.

"Harry?"

"Yes," Harry said quickly, snapping out of his reverie.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Harry replied. His legs felt very heavy and awkward.

"You were dreaming, I think. Nightmare possibly."

"Oh," was all Harry said. It was a weird turn of events, he thought, for it was usually Draco having the nightmares. "What was it about?" he asked before he could stop himself. Draco raised his eyebrow.

"Well I can't say I'm sufficiently accomplished in Legilimency to tell you, see," said Draco steadily.

"Right," said Harry, blushing purple. "But why are we naked?" He simply could not get over his nudity. Try as he might he could not. There was nothing wrong being uncomfortable naked, was there?

He did not need to see Draco's cheeks turning pink to know he was blushing because when Draco blushed he either grew very still and stopped blinking or slowly pulled his head back as though recoiling in slow motion and his eyes would flutter rapidly. Then Draco would respond in very rapid speech in either an affronted or defensive tone.

"I—I was trying to comfort you," Draco answered loftily, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

It was decidedly not a reaction for which Harry was prepared. It did not feature in their history, and this kind of honesty from Draco was largely unprecedented. Harry thought it almost mean and irresponsible of Draco as a Slytherin.

"By taking my clothes off?" he said after recovering himself.

Draco said and did nothing. "I-" he finally said, rearranging his arms, "-It was hot."

Harry wordlessly stared at the grey eyes sparkling through the dark for a moment. "It wasn't." When Draco said nothing, Harry continued, "But… thanks, anyway." He truly was appreciative of Draco's gesture of trying to comforting him, but he still did not understand why Draco had to strip him naked. Was this the way a Slytherin comforted?

"You're being ridiculous, you know. I've seen you before. Why're you being such a prude? It's just your body – it's a tool to exist with."

_Yeah, it's easy for you to say! 'Tool to exist with' my arse!_

Draco took him by the ankles and pulled him towards him. That sense of violation, of loss of control, stole over Harry again. He was not supposed to be that easy to move – he was supposed to be unshakeable, fortified, strong – strong enough to protect Draco… Draco laid himself on top of him again. Harry breathed hard. He faced the other way, quite overwhelmed with feeling so exposed and violated that night.

And he was extremely aware of Draco's body onto of his. Draco was hard. Clearly without thinking Harry look down between them and naturally could not see but could Draco's penis against his stomach. Another male's erection. It was strange. It was long, felt slightly cold but was warming up. It felt solid, tubular and extremely hard. And Harry could feel the nearly freezing shrivelled scrotum against him. He had another boy on top of him. Draco was aroused. By what? Him?

His eyes darted up to Draco's face. Draco raised his eyebrows.

"You're-" Harry licked his lips. "-You're hard."

"Yes, that would be pretty obvious."

Harry blinked owlishly. "Why?" he asked dumbly.

"Why?" said Draco, recoiling slightly. "Because I'm a fully functional male, that's why."

But it had always been a one-way traffic: it had always been his attraction towards Draco. But what about the opposite direction? Was Draco attracted to him? He had to be: Draco had kissed him when he confessed his love just after Draco was moved into his new room. Draco had verbally agreed with him that they were involved. They had kissed on the bed and rubbed against each other – Draco had been fully hard. So why did Harry find the possibility that Draco could be attracted to him so unimaginable? Perhaps it was because he had always known he had little to offer in the looks department.

But why was he so focused on the physical aspects? What about his personality? What personality? Could a personality be attractive? Who finds a personality attractive? Would a Slytherin find a personality – a Gryffindorian personality – interesting? Perhaps it might be a refreshing change for him?

"Harry," said Draco softly, wearing a slight smirk, "I think you have an image issue."

"I don't have an image issue," Harry said at once as he slid away from Draco, who did not resist. It was not a crime to have a sense of reservation, was it? But was this reasonable when it came to one's partner, one's lover, the very person with whom one was supposed to be the most comfortable? Harry did not get any of this.

"I think you look beautiful," lilted Draco.

Harry's chest caved in breathlessness and utter astonishment as his pulse thundered across his body. He could not speak. How dare Draco use his own words against him? But how dare he, Harry, not be careful with his words in front of a witty Draco? He had never thought of calling Draco this as insulting but being called the same was fundamentally so, as well as offensive and derogatory. An attack to his manhood, his masculinity. Was this how Draco had felt when Harry had called him beautiful?

Draco was smirking at him. Harry looked at him. Was Draco really pretty, beautiful? He called Fauss' words about the pureblood tradition of arranging marriages to ensure handsome offspring and he looked into Draco's face. Now that he thought of it, scrutinized it, there was something indeed eerily proportioned about his beauty. Something controlled about it, carefully crafted: thin eyebrows; strong, pointed chin; flawless, brushed cheeks; the long, upturned nose seeming quite adapted to sniffing pompously. The facial features appeared air-brushed with a frosty, marble finish.

Was this really beauty? Why could it not be called beauty if it was natural? It might have been planned, the genes mixed with the right ones, but it was still natural, was it not? But then again, there were several flaws about Draco. Indeed Lucius had received his grand comeuppance in the form of the disappointing form of his son, Harry thought, recalling both Fauss and Draco referring to Draco's height as inadequate, his hair as too long and his hands as too feminine.

"I'm not beautiful," said Harry, bending his legs together so his genitals were hidden again from Draco, who raised his thin, sculpted eyebrow. "I'm handsome."

Draco merely stared at him for a few spaces of a heartbeat and then he burst into laughter, burying his face in Harry's neck and disturbing the snoring coming from Neville's bed. Harry grinned even as he squirmed tensely.

"I'm also handsome, don't you think?" Draco suggested, wriggling his eyebrow after getting controlled himself again.

"If you want to believe it," said Harry dismissively, trying to draw his foot away; it was tingling horribly.

"Well, I like being beautiful, then. Sure's a sight better than being pretty!"

Harry raised his own eyebrow. "You like being called beautiful?"

Draco smiled at him. "Only when it's you."

"Dammit," Harry whispered aloud, forgetting himself amidst his embarrassment. Draco laughed softly at him. "What time is it?" he asked more to distract himself than because he was really curious.

He reached for his alarm watch but Draco cut off mid-laugh and whispered, "_Tempus._" Green, smoky figures glowed into sight showing the time 12:49.

"Show-off," Harry spat.

"But of course. Did you enjoy our duel today?"

Harry's jaw clenched. "It was yesterday, in fact."

"Did you like my Tarantella Jinx?"

Harry blushed furiously, remembering doing the moonwalk across the dais and then rubbing himself against Draco's groin.

"The rest of the DA found it very entertaining," Harry replied with dignity. "I'm still very tired, by the way, and we have a… a big day ahead of us today."

And suddenly his attention was drawn to the square patch of pale moonlight streaming in from his window, and his heart started beating very fast. The moon suddenly threatened far more than revealing his body to Draco. His heart stormed onward… All amusement and teasing left Draco's face as he too looked back at the window. His neck muscles tautened as his hair fell in front of his face, sinisterly hiding it. It was as the night was cut cleanly into two: the time before and Harry implicitly referred to Hogsmeade. And swiftly gone was the childish banter, the trivial woes of his appearance and issues of violation, for the very source of light that was reflected on Draco's one bum cheek he could see over his left shoulder was that which may be his undoing.

Draco was still looking at the window over his shoulder, and Harry was glad for it because it staved off the inevitable awkward moment to come. Although he thought Draco was cowardly not to go with them to Hogsmeade – he had always known him to be – he still respected and sympathized with his position. It would not do to have the one and only heir of a very ancient family, which was also one of the few purebloods left, to be contaminated or possibly even killed by werewolves, something about which he could not bear thinking.

Harry extracted his pyjamas from underneath Draco's leg and pulled them on. There was nothing else left to do.

"You know, I really wanted to comfort you as closely as I could," said Draco without looking at him directly and as he buttoned up his shirt. "You've given me so much."

Harry stopped straightening his collar and looked up at Draco. "I know," he said, hoping that his breath had not sounded catchy

"You were having dreams about Dumbledore and-"

"I know," said Harry again, this time more sternly.

"And about me."

Harry quietly peeled the sheets open and slipped in between them. Draco followed suit and they lay next to each other, resting their heads on the same pillow. But even merely lying there next to him was beginning to stoke Harry's arousal once more, and he faced the predicament of causing a tent in the sheets. But he also did not want to turn away from Draco to conceal it as it would seem too harsh and detached. When Draco turned his face fully towards him and spurred Harry's growing erection Harry felt he had no choice but to turn towards him as well but cast his head down into the black depths of the sheets. Draco did not speak and Harry felt the grey eyes gazing at him scorch him. He tried his best not to move around.

Draco said he had been dreaming about Dumbledore, which was true. He had tortured himself with dreams of a man he loved extremely dearly, a man who had been his greatest protector, a man who had cherished him for simply being, a man with the piercing eyes of brightest blue, and a man of whom Draco was neither fond nor respectful…

"Hold me, Harry," whispered Draco finally, "like you always like to do."

Harry's arm mechanically moved under the sheets and lay across Draco's stomach, where it hung lifelessly and colourlessly. It was just there: a warm but cold, reassuring but dispassionate limb than arm.

"Harry…" Draco's tone was almost chiding. And Harry thought he heard him give a soft cluck of impatience.

Harry sniffed. He felt Draco's head lifting off the pillow.

"Harry?"

Harry burrowed his face deeper into the pillow. He felt the body twisting closer to him and sensed Draco stooping down to get a look at his face.

"Harry."

Harry played anxiously with his fingers on Draco's stomach. Draco tried to gently push Harry's head upwards to reveal his face but Harry pushed back down against the heel of Draco's palm with all the muscles of his neck.

"Harry, come off it," Draco chided as he came even closer.

Harry gasped, tears burning his eyes as he began pushing Draco away, the person who never liked Dumbledore… Dumbledore…

"Merlin, Harry… Just, please, let me hold you. Let me hold you for once."

No, he was not supposed to be the one comforted. He was not supposed to be the one held. He was strong – he defeated Voldemort four times already. He had stood against grown wizards, a basilisk, werewolves, Dementors and Voldemort himself. All of which Draco could not do even in his wildest dreams. He was the giver, the provider, the protector. He was strong – demonstrably. He was supposed to be…

"You've done it for me so many times. Let me do it for you. Please…"

It was true. Why could he not submit? Why could he not allow himself this comfort offered by the warm body next to him? Because he had never known how to accept it, had only experienced it once at the bosom of Mrs Weasley a year ago. Otherwise he could never approach it, never find it in himself to take it, orphaned as he was. But here was his lover offering him ready-made, unconditional, warm comfort. Could he not just give in, open up? Open up his limbs, free his chest, bury his face deeply into his pale neck? Could he not cry in secrecy against its crook, thrust himself into his welcoming person? He did so, his limbs snaking around the narrow torso, and like the sudden constriction of the anaconda, Harry's limbs wound around and wrung upon Draco with unassailable force, accepting of the comfort, squeezing it out of him, and they did not release Draco until they woke.


	33. Cauldron SpillOver

**Chapter 33**

**Cauldron Runneth Over**

"It's time to wake up, my dragon. It's time to wake up, my dragon. It's time to wake up, my dragon. It's time to wake up, my dragon."

Dumbledore was the first thing on Harry's mind as he woke up. Then, what day it was, and what would happen later at eight o'clock in the evening, approximately the time Dumbledore died. At that moment Harry, along with his friends and perhaps even the rest of the school, felt the musical lament of phoenix song flying over their souls when Fawkes cried his soul out for his master and pasted his outline on the sky below Hogwarts like a celebratory flyover, seen by those who had cared.

Harry brushed a few strands of blond away when Draco started to stir. It was a strange experience to wake up being held, protected and weighed upon as he had been. He had underestimated the power of a soothing body, of external, warm comfort. It was wonderfully relieving and beatifying. It made his insides want to explode, filling him up with contentedness.

Then, still his eyes still closed, Draco stretched. It was possibly the cutest thing Harry had ever seen in his life. Draco stretched, uncurling himself off Harry, joints cracking, limbs bowing almost cleanly off Harry, and the Slytherin seemingly elongated as he face yawned very widely as did not befit an aristocrat, Harry thought. After blasting Harry with morning breath, which to Harry made him seem disturbingly normal, predictable, human and somehow fallible, Draco simply stared down at Harry unblinkingly. His grey eyes were fixed, lifeless, matte and uninterested.

For several moments Draco remained silent as his shoulders swayed minutely in tune to some song Harry could not hear. And then, as though his mind had finished booting up, Draco smiled before he suddenly started raining kisses on Harry, who squirmed pleasurably after being caught off guard by this. It was an unprecedented whim Harry would have never thought of Draco. So determined was he not to break out into an immature fit of giggles and focussed on evading Draco's fingers he failed to notice that the bed next to them was empty of his red-haired friend.

"Draco! Come off it! This is childish! I'm not six for bloody sake!" But Harry was laughing uncontrollably, writhing immoderately, feeling blessed immeasurably.

Draco was relentless despite the protests and continued to insinuate his fingers in the most serpentine of ways and in the deepest of places on Harry's body. Harry found ticklish places he had not known about himself. But who would think of tickling him? Certainly not Ron or Hermione or even Sirius.

"Draco!"

"Harry!" Draco whispered back (it was six o'clock in the morning). He pushed his fingers everywhere he could reach. This continued for about five minutes until Harry found himself smiling painfully, sprawled haphazardly underneath Draco.

But now that the fun was over Harry was starting to grow sleepy again. He was not used to waking up so early in the morning. Slowly his eyelids drooped, his arms lost their protective grips on his body, the muscles relaxed, and he was starting to slip back, slowly and wonderfully…

He woke up to find Draco nowhere to be seen. He proceeded alone to the showers, where he still did not find a pale blob undulating through a shimmering shower door but those of his exceedingly ordinary dorm mates. Twenty minutes later he was trooping down to the Great Hall with Ron, Dean, Seamus and Neville, all of whom were trying to keep up with his brisk trot – he wanted to confirm as quickly that Draco was in the Great Hall, safe and breakfasting as ever with his knife and fork.

However, he was not so distracted as not to notice the lasting red flush to Ron's face despite the fact that Ron had not looked up from the ground since they left the common room. That Seamus looked slightly nauseous next to Dean, whose cheeks were absent of that childish fullness but instead there was a bony ripple to his set jaw, and his face was oddly blank. Or that Neville was clutching crushingly at his Remembrall, which Harry had retrieved for him from Draco in first year.

Harry's anxiety about where Draco was slunk to back of his mind. He suspected the boys beside which he walked were wary about today, about what their Astronomy charts told them of this day. How could he begin a conversation with his Housemates knowing exactly what their minds were on? What was there to say after the headmaster had been killed?

"Hey, guys," he said with an over-compensating chortle that sounded deranged and presumptuous. But it drew the other Gryffindors' faces to him faster than whatever he would say. "Which of you have Draco's _Connoisseur_magazine?"

Ron's lasting red tinge finally subsided, leaving his face unattractively blotchy. "Don't know. I think the last person to have it was that fourth-year Sprice kid with the buckteeth."

"I wouldn't remember if I could," said Neville quietly, wringing his Remembrall.

The bone showing on Dean's jaw line rippled out of sight. "'And by the way it's not a magazine,'" he pointed out in Draco's pompous tenor, at which Harry was not too offended. Although if it had been Ron to quote Draco, it would have been a different story.

"It might as well be!" Seamus enthused fervently. "I've never read a book so fascinating no matter what he calls it! Remember Quodpot? The exploding Quaffle? And that World Cup Quidditch final with the kazillion cheats? Whoa, it's tons better than _Which Broomstick?_ and_ Ages_ where they only _tell you_ about stuff and what have you not! In _Connoisseur_, we _saw_it!"

Ron flashed Seamus a heated look. "But what kind of name is Thibault Bonfils?" he sneered angrily. "Sounds like some prissy ponce with frilly cuffs and gorgeous calves if you ask me."

"Ron, you should be the last person to talk about frilly cuffs," Seamus countered tartly. "And who wrote_ Ages_then?"

Ron looked short of an answer. "How should I know? I don't usually pick up a book and see who wrote it! But I reckon it's something like Bowing or Rowling or something."

"That sounds like some sea-going navy faggot, if you ask _me_," said Seamus, as though these words had no bearing on his own orientation. "_Row, row, row your boat_-"

"All right, guys, enough!" Harry shouted. It was not going the way he had anticipated or hoped for at all.

"Do you actually read at all in the first place?" Seamus harrumphed to Dean.

"Oi! That's a low blow, you! I'm fifth year, aren't I! Come here!" Ron jokily tried to clap Seamus around Dean, who quite suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, fisted his hands at his sides and glared at Ron.

"Are you threatening my boyfriend?" Dean growled in a low voice.

If Harry had not known Dean's voice for four years and seen his lips move, he would never have believed it. So perfectly amazed he, Seamus and Neville were that they stopped walking at the same time and gawked at Dean. Several portraits lining the corridor closest to them copied them.

Ron could not have looked more taken aback in his life. For several, very long seconds no one moved as Ron gaped into Dean's once cheery dark-brown eyes. The dark-skinned Gryffindor was a straight, taut line of tensed muscle and hinged fury ready to unleash on his dorm mate.

Ron's head swivelled from Seamus to Dean as he stuttered incomplete apologies. "Dean, I—that wasn't what—I wasn't really going to—mate, I—we—I…"

Harry swallowed, thoroughly thunderstruck. He would have never seen this coming, for Dean to practically declare Seamus as his boyfriend, for him to be this defensive and dare challenge Ron on his behalf when it could not be more obvious that the redhead could easily take him on and come out better off, something which Dean must have known. Blushing madly, he watched Seamus, who appeared equally flabbergasted and flushed as he looked at Dean as though he had never seen him before, to which Harry could relate – he had never seen Dean act like this either.

"Dean—I—Dean…!" Ron continued spluttered, assailed by utter shock at Dean's reaction and could not be expected to retain a competent grasp on normal sentence structure.

Dean, standing rigidly in front of a gulping Ron, relaxed the taut muscles in his neck, cast his head down as he visibly tempered himself and as his face closed off again, swallowed, moved away from Ron, grabbed Seamus by the wrist and whispered to him, "Come on." The pair set off down the corridor. Seamus allowed himself to be led by the hand without a word, looking aside at Dean with a frozen expression of deep awe.

Blinking rapidly, Harry forced his legs into action and trailed Dean and Seamus, daring not to look at Neville or Ron. _Shit_, he thought gravely. Early in the day though it was he was finding it many-folded, pitted, harbouring unprecedented eventualities that may spring up without a moment's warning. First had been something as trivial as being tickled for the first time in his life, the fear of not finding Draco in his bed when he woke up, finding his friends in very tense states, and most astonishing of all, Dean – someone who worshipped the game of Quidditch, had had a number of crushes on girls before and who looked the furthest thing from a gay boy – defending his boyfriend Seamus. If the day had started out so ominously so early, just what more could it hold?

Meanwhile the scene that had shortly played out was trickling across the portraits. "What in Merlin's name is with this school? Do not tell me to lower my voice, my fellow man. I think you should be just as appalled. Where will our future generations be if a pestilential contamination of homo-erotic impulses are not purged as…?"

They did not speak to each other for the rest of the way except for when Ron whispered, "Harry… Can you believe that?" But he shortly subsided into a dazed silence and shook his head at regular intervals along the way as the scene undoubtedly played in his mind continuously. When they entered the Great Hall and Ron's eyes went to the Gryffindor table where Hermione sat, the red tinge to his face returned with greater heat.

But Harry was not privy to it, for his eyes could not escape the sight of the High Table, in the middle of which had once sat Dumbledore now sat Professor McGonagall. There rose within Harry a quiet rage, accompanied with incredulous indignation. She was sitting in Dumbledore's seat. It was another unexpected fold of the day. _How dare she?_With her hawk-like expression behind horn-rimmed glasses, and as she pushed around her food pointlessly, she spotted Harry's arrested gaze, followed him briefly as he strode over to the Gryffindor table and then looked away to continue her placid survey of the Great Hall. She finally let her hand fall from her fork.

In a dream-like state, Harry felt like he was floating towards to his table before he plunked down in his chair next to Draco. The Slytherin was bringing a fork to his lips laden with a piece of waffle bathed in golden syrup. Draco looked at him, his head slightly tilted back and his fork hanging on his lips. He smirked warmly and suggestively at him. Harry bashfully returned it with a look that told the other boy he was unimpressed if slightly amused look. Harry found McGonagall's figure again sitting in Dumbledore's seat. He felt violated – a feeling with which he was starting to become familiar. But did he really expect McGonagall to leave the headmaster's seat empty for commemoration's sake?

He began loading his plate and was thrown yet another surprise when he noticed that Ron's plate was not already full yet. Usually by the time Harry was putting together his breakfast from the vast selections on the table, Ron would be on his fourth spoonful: it was evident Ron was preoccupied. Harry thought he had an idea why after he looked over to Hermione. Ron's flush worsened to a purplish colour. Hermione, Harry observed, had a matching flush to her face as well as she read – or pretended to read – the tome beneath her nose intently. Her bushy hair fell over almost her entire face as she read as though deliberately trying to hide her face. Harry looked from Ron to Hermione to Ron again. He looked at Draco, with whom he was officially involved. Perhaps there was something similar going on between Ron and Hermione…

Draco was looking over at Dean and Seamus as he chewed. "Thomas and Finnigan were having a last ride shag yesterday – I heard them."

"A what?" asked Harry, blushing already as he picked up the pumpkin juice pitcher.

Draco nodded as he chewed on his waffle, gazing studiously at the pair. This behaviour together with his whispering, dainty chewing and a gossipy sort of avidity to his eyes which Harry normally associated with Parvati and Lavender lent Draco a girlish appearance, something Harry did not like. He did not like seeing Draco acting like an effeminate boy who wanted to be a girl, whether he was aware that he was doing so or not. Harry strongly wished for the moment to pass.

"The last ride shag," said Draco. "That final shag you have with someone when you know or think least you won't see again."

Harry did not move for several seconds and his hand was suspended in the air holding with the pitcher, which was filling up his glass rapidly.

"Babes, you're going to spill your juice," chided Draco as he pushed down Harry's hand.

There came one, scorching, sweat-inducing wave of heat that rippled down slowly from Harry's temple where his head seemed to throb wholly to his stomach, causing it to hollow and drop to the floor emptily. The wave hit him with all its gathered momentum in his groin and his penis promptly swelled to life, elongating and creeping further down his thigh where it thundered at full length almost painfully against his Snitch underpants.

"Close your mouth," Draco said quietly. He leaned over and pecked Harry's gaping mouth.

And rage on even harder did his prick. He was surely radiating heat on part of his body. Harry pinned his eyes to his food, from where he did not dare raise his head again. First was the term of affection "Babes". Then the kiss… It was yet another fold of the day unleashed, sprung.

"As I was saying," Draco continued nonchalantly while Harry's world was being rocked right next to him, "they were having last rides this morning and I heard Finnigan telling Thomas he should tell him that, well, they would be all right." Draco then looked down at his own plate, grew quiet and continued eating his food with a slightly unsettled look on his face.

_Because they don't know if they'll survive Hogsmeade_. "You sleep next to them, you know – you could at least call them by their first names."

"Hardly, Potter. I've only known them less than a week."

Harry shook his head but he was not hugely miffed at Draco – something else had stolen his attention: Hogsmeade – the Ministry bash. He gave a shufti at Dean and Seamus: Seamus, in whose face was still a trace of bashful awe, was attempting idle conversation with Dean (Ginny was resolutely talking with a fellow fourth-year). But Dean was single-mindedly focussed on his food, cutting his Shepherd pie very rigidly, and that bony ripple in his jaw had returned. He looked strung.

He was not alone: Harry observed some of the other students, the majority of whom he could recognize as DA members. They looked similarly tense: their dialogue was sparse, stilted and unnatural. They were taut and rigid as Dean was. And many of them seemed to lack an appetite, picking hopelessly at their food. The other DA members Harry could pick out were vigilantly avoiding everyone's eye, breakfasting religiously or chatting with their neighbours overzealously. Harry suspected these, who were not showing as much signs of anxiety, were the member who were not prepared to show up for the final DA meeting tonight. _Cowards, the lot of them._

Harry broadened his gaze further to the rest of the Great Hall. A vicarious air of excitement was evident in the room in anticipation of the Ministry bash which had been building up steadily for almost a week. Although the students were prohibited from attending the bash they were allowed the opportunity to talk about something else other than Dumbledore.

"Your attention please," McGonagall said loudly as she rapped her glass with a spoon. When the school came to order she continued, "Good morning, students. I trust to finding you all well this Tuesday morning. I have a few announcements…"

"Give us a free day. Please give us a free day," Ron begged, looking up at McGonagall beseechingly. "I mean," he said a little uneasily to Harry, "this has to justify it, right?"

"First of all, as you may have had the displeasure of seeing it for yourself or otherwise read about it in yesterday's _Daily Prophet_…" She paused here after saying the paper's name in a voice of delicate contempt lest her students find her politically incorrect. And even from so far, Harry saw her nostrils flare angrily, and he felt a rush of affection for her. "…Professor Dumbledore is no longer with us. Therefore, I'm the newly appointed headmistress of this school."

Just she said headmistress Harry raised his ears so that a muffling, rushing sound rather like that a car makes as it travels on a smooth road at moderate speed filled his head. It was immature, he knew, but he did not care. He did not have to accept the reality that Dumbledore had been replaced just yet.

"And it is my wish, as well as that of every professor across this table, that Professor Dumbledore be buried on the grounds of the school he loved very dearly."

The Great Hall rang with loud applause. Hagrid was bringing his enormous dustbin-lid-sized hands together and adding considerably to the din, though the applause given by more than a singular pair of hands was loudest at the Gryffindor table. Feeling unreasonably ashamed that it was not he who had been the first to clap, Harry clapped until his hands were red and tingly. Teary-eyed and and quite in his own space of mind, he did not consider the boy next to him who had started clapping belatedly and modestly.

McGonagall allowed the emotional outpouring and Harry caught her turning away from the room and dabbing at her eyes furtively. "Thank you," she said soon afterwards, encouraged the thunderous applause to fade. She cleared her throat and went on, "Dumbledore was arguably the best headmaster – er, that is to say, he was much applied to his-"

"Yeh got it righ' the first time, 'Fessor," boomed Hagrid tearfully, blowing into his table-cloth-sized handkerchief. "Dumbledore was the bes' headmas'er tis school's ever seen, I tell yeh!"

"Infinitely dedicated to this school and to revealing the good in people as he was," McGonagall continued a little sharply, nostrils flaring, "Dumbledore will always be remembered in our hearts and his memory cherished by the so many he has touched. Now, I would like for us to hold a moment's silence of commiseration for the two professors of this school whom have fallen."

The Hall bowed their heads and closed his eyes. Harry felt a hand slip into his own and squeeze him. He squeezed back. After a minute in which flashed in Harry's mind twinkling, piercing eyes of brightest blue, big childish smiles and robes of midnight blue, he heard McGonagall say, "Thank you." They all opened their eyes, blinking back tears. Harry gazed around at the Great Hall. His eyes were quickly drawn to the Slytherin table: some of its occupants were regarding their nails, others yawned widely, some slipped into idle habits of scratching their hair or picking their noses and still others muttered to one another.

Harry looked away before he could let rise to his rage. Then, by the slightest of chances, caught sight of Pansy Parkinson's wild blond ringlets. Her arms crossed tightly, she had a pout that made her pug-like face even more of a tragedy than it was, and she was staring straight at Draco's back. Harry broadened his gaze from around her: Crabbe and Goyle were obliviously afloat in culinary, chins covered in cream. And beyond them a few Slytherins were eyeing Draco almost as hungrily as Pansy was.

With a skip of a heartbeat, something occurred to Harry: now that Dumbledore was gone the Slytherins had a clear way to him and Draco. He was also quite sure Voldemort had given other children of his servants the honourable task of killing Draco, for it would be foolish to hope that he had not found out that Fauss had failed in his mission.

"Now, you may have known that the Ministry will be hosting an atrocity of an occasion in just a few hours from now." It was clear in McGonagall's tone that she was highly disgusted by the bash. "It's needless to remind you that students, of course, are not allowed in Hogsmeade unless there's an official trip coming up, which, incidentally, runs on the fourth of October this coming Saturday. I therefore don't expect to open the_ Prophet_ tomorrow and find a Hogwarts student hanging around droopy-eyed from alcohol in the background.

"However, we as teachers do recognize that this time may be hard for certain students." Although McGonagall's eyes gave not the merest of flickers in Harry's direction, a few heads turned towards him, but Harry kept his gaze fixed on McGonagall.

"Yes, yes, go on, go on," whispered Ron encouragingly, blue eyes sparking.

"We have decided to let the periods from the fifth fall away for today."

Ron's mouth fell open as whispers and mutters began to roll across the Great Hall. Harry felt as though the bottom of the earth had fallen away, but he was pleasantly surprised.

"Typical," Draco spat, while Hermione wore an odd, conflicted expression on her face. Ron swiftly rummaged in his rucksack and when he resurfaced his eyes darted around his course schedule. And when he found what he was looking for he shook his head and pursed his lips with surprising reserve, evidently appalled beyond displaying his indignation any more plainly.

"Look at this, Harry. Yeah, why don't you cut all the lessons after yours?"

Indeed when Harry peeked at his own time-table he found that third and fourth period were Transfiguration, preceded by double Divinations. Harry was almost certain Professor Trelawney was going to claim to have seen Dumbledore's death coming with her Inner Eye. If she did so Harry was going to take a leave from Hermione's book.

McGonagall had resumed Dumbledore's seat. The professors beside her were in various states of anguish, the worst of whom being Professor Sprout. Hagrid was still blowing into his huge handkerchief. Patting his elbow next to him, strangely, was Mad-Eye Moody, looking slightly disgusted as his electric-blue eye whizzed around in its socket wildly. It was not where he usually sat and was now positioned closer to the Gryffindor table. Slughorn did not let anguish get in the way of dining, as he steadily cleared his plate while some of his colleagues sniffed and dabbed at their eyes with tissues.

Ron stuffed his course schedule back into his bag with an irritated cluck of his tongue and looked expectantly at the square opening at the top of the wall of the Great Hall, still quite avoiding Hermione who was nose-deep in her Arithmancy textbook, quite avoiding everyone as well.

Harry was still thinking on the Slytherins. He was trying to come up with a means to protect Draco. It was only rare luck that double Potions was one of the periods which fell away today. If they were not to, it would mean Draco would have to attend them with the Hufflepuffs, away from Harry's watch. Could he ask the members of the DA to keep an eye on Draco? But was that not taking advantage of his position as the leader?

"Draco," he said quietly.

"Hm?"

"The Slytherins – look." Harry jerked his head backwards.

"I've already seen them," said Draco coolly as he continued to eat.

"Well, do you like the looks they're giving you?"

"No. Do you?"

"No. I'm thinking of, you know, asking if some of the…" Before he had even finished his sentence a defensive mask slipped on Draco's face. The Slytherin stared at his food, his jaw set proudly. But Harry found he did not care for this – pride could not protect his life. A capable entourage could. "…If some of the members, if they could, like, maybe shuttle us or something."

He watched Draco levelly for his response but before Draco could give it there was the sound of fluttering wings. Ron stood straighter in his chair, looking anticipatory. Hermione finally resurfaced from the intellectual depths of the book and looked up. Owls of all colours and sizes streamed in from the top square window, filling the top of the Great Hall. They circled the room, searching for their owners. Some swooped downwards while the other lazier ones dropped their packages from maximum height, thereby upending their owners' plates. Had the students been quicker to eat they would have had their food inside them instead of on them.

With a thundering heart Harry caught a glimmer of snow. And Hedwig had a note. He followed her flight, which ended at Professor McGonagall's shoulder. Already nervous and anxious from anticipating Hedwig's missive, a rush of fury stole him. Before he could stop himself his fist had banged on the table. She dared to sit in Dumbledore's chair, now she dares to imitate him by spell-checking his mail just as Dumbledore had? He sincerely hoped Hedwig would not enjoy her spell-work as she had Dumbledore's.

So distracted was he by McGonagall and his warring emotions that he almost missed the great shadow of Draco's eagle owl swooping down on them. He landed a few yards down the table so he could make his regular strut down the catwalk. Majestically and pompously, Dragonfly pushed his chest out, and his emerald-set necklace glinted with every bop of his proud head. He somehow kicked aside several laden plates with strength whence Harry could not fathom and slapped aside the other smaller scurrying owls, which flapped, squawked and hooted indignantly but dared not provoke him.

Harry had not forgotten how quickly this terrifying bird had been tempered by Hedwig in his first encounter with Dragonfly in his dormitory. This was after Dragonfly had terrorized him and his dorm mates and effectively kept them hostage. The eagle owl, leaving a trail of devastation in his wake of spilled food, scattered cutlery and heaps of feathers that were not his own, stood at attention in front of Draco and raised one leg to Draco, who seemed slightly taken aback by his appearance.

In the middle of the beam of deathly glares thrown at Dragonfly as the Gryffindor students picked up their spoons and soothed their owls, Hermione slipped a Knut into the pouch of a small grey owl that always delivered her copy of the _Daily Prophet_, which Harry, as usual, had no desire to glimpse.

Draco undid what appeared to be a diamante silver string – _Really_, Harry thought, unimpressed – unfurled the small and elegant note and pressed the face of his emerald ring on the surface of the letter, whereupon he winced in pain and the emerald stones on both his ring and Dragonfly's necklace blinked green. With some apprehension Harry looked on as Draco straightened the note and started to read it. Harry leaned forward to take a look but Draco gave a funny jerk and twisted around to face Harry so he could not read it. Two pinks spots appeared on Draco's cheeks, and he informed Harry in his prissiest tone yet, "It's rude to read other people's mail, Harry."

Feeling stiffed, somewhat betrayed, a little hurt – for which Harry despised himself – and more than a little disgusted at what had happened with the jewellery, he looked away from the blood-stained reverse of Draco's letter, sat back and rather considered Hermione.

"What does the _Prophet _say?" he asked her.

"Oh nothing," she squeaked a little too quickly, still slightly red in the face. "Just the usual. It says there's a 'sombre air that hangs about us' following Dumbledore's, hem hem, death. But it barely mentions him, really. They're just covering the reaction from the Wizarding world. There's also a reminder about today's bash of course."

So they mentioned the bash right after Dumbledore, did they? Harry gave the _Daily Prophet _in Hermione's hand a blank glance, tempted to shake his head, appalled, but thinking that the paper did not deserve his reaction. He looked back at Draco: he had finished reading the note and his eyes were widened slightly. The Slytherin turned back to his plate, slipped the letter inside his breast pocket without a word, took his fork again and started eating slowly.

"What was it?" Harry asked, sorely tempted to snatch the letter from Draco's breast pocket.

"Nothing," replied Draco quietly after a short pause. He adjusted his school robe as though he knew exactly what Harry wanted to do.

"It's not nothing, Draco," Harry insisted, but he could not find a way to push his argument further. Surely he could not force Draco to divulge his private message. Harry dropped his shoulders, a concerned expression on his face. "Draco."

"Come off it," Draco urged as he ate but still languidly. Harry watched him, feeling a new kind of emotion for Draco – pure worry: now he looked at Draco with pure worry without having any idea what the letter referred to. Bind worry for the boy he loved, it was very different to feel this unconditional emotion.

Harry turned back around in his seat. He looked on his other side to see Ron unfurling one of two scrolls. Now that Hedwig's pseudo-betrayal and Dragonfly's entrance were behind him, he noticed a greyish blur whizzing above their heads – little Pigwidgeon. It was the same owl that had delivered his mince pies during his summer at the Dursleys.

"Pig! Stop it!" said Ron as he tried and failed to swat the little Scops out of the air.

"He might stop if you call him by his real name," Hermione pointed out.

Ron did not answer her. Wordlessly he straightened the first note, which was rather nondescript compared to its companion, which, Harry could observe, was quite a step-up for the Weasleys if it came from them. It was not as classy and elegant as Draco's but it had its own modest and pleasant appeal, with a simple ribbon tying it, and though it did not have a golden gradient and perhaps a watermark, it had a nice peach-brown tint to it.

"It's from Mum," Ron told him. Harry watched him as he read on and saw Ron's lips stretching progressively to one side, which was usually a sign of his disappointment or petulance after being chastised. "Says she's worried about me and Ginny after hearing that Dumbledore's finally snuffed it. She's thinking of taking us out of school. First Snape, now Dumbledore…" Ron dispiritedly rolled the note up and threw it at Ginny's head, whereupon the fourth-year stopped talking with one of her friends and read it.

Ron then unfurled the better-looking one. Harry could distinctly spy a letterhead, which meant it came from some organization, but Harry failed to think up of any that would contact Ron, who now, quite contrary to his earlier mood, released a whoop of excitement.

"What is it?" Harry asked, leaning forward to see properly and caught the name on the letterhead: Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. But at that moment a friendly cuff ruffled his already messy hair which did not need positive re-enforcement to misbehave. Harry turned his head to Hedwig landing smoothly on the table, at which point she and Dragonfly stopped moving again.

"Hedwig," Harry said, with a smile. "How've you been doing, girl?" Not expecting an answer, since Hedwig again was so preoccupied with looking graceful that she was forgetting to move at all, he untied the note on her leg, which was still on the table and had not been raised as was appropriate. His heart beating fast again, and his hands starting to shake slightly, Harry unfurled the rather long note and began to read the long block of Sirius's handwriting.

_Harry,  
_

_I heard about Dumbledore. I hope you're doing well – I know he meant a lot to you._

_This changes things drastically – very drastically indeed. For one, many are going to see you now as extremely vulnerable, and some people are probably going to start get reckless trying to get either to you or Draco Malfoy because they know what lengths you went to to rescue him – yes, I know. It doesn't matter whether you despise him or for some reason give a feathery owl's arse about him after you saved him. They're going to use him as leverage against you. You'll probably notice that many teachers will suddenly want to accompany you in the corridors and what not, and I'm willing to bet Moody's keeping a very close eye on you…_

When Harry looked up from the letter, sure enough Mad-Eye Moody's electric-blue eye was upon him. Moody then respectfully turned away. Harry felt a rush of annoyance.

_…I myself will do the little I can to try to look out for you, as always. But ultimately it's up to you to observe your safety, Harry. Please don't be like your father and venture out under some magical disguise to any Hogsmeade trips, whether illegally or not. Rather just stay put under the guard of the Order of the Phoenix, founded by Dumbledore himself. You can honour him in this way, Harry…_

"Ah!" Harry said in disbelief. That was wholly unfair. He missed Ron and Draco starting and busying themselves, though they appeared to have every intention of resuming reading Harry's letter.

_…On other matters, Harry, I'd really like to know what made you so upset the other day, on Sunday, I think. My fire-call got cut off for some reason too. Maybe I didn't use enough Floo powder or it might have been something on your side. And there're a lot of things I would like you to explain for me – like why Draco was starkers under your Invisibility Cloak and how on Merlin's sweet earth you just decided to rescue him from Voldemort's clutches after hating him solidly for four years, I hear._

_Ron and Hermione might have told you this, but, yes, I think that whole 'Ministry Bracing Bash' thing is a laughable farce. People are going to remain scared and asking questions regardless. What with Ollivander first to go and now Dumbledore, and on Ministry of Magic premises. Little old Fudge must be scrambling to restore calm. And I wouldn't be surprised if the _Daily Prophet _starts turning a blind eye on things and sweeping them under the rug._

_Tossing aside Fudge, I'm moving back into my old home at number twelve, Grimmauld Place as you might know. Calling it dilapidated would be a compliment, to tell you the truth. I hope in the near future you'll help me sort it out because Kreacher, my house-elf here, is not of much use – he's old, we don't like each other much and he keeps messing with Buckbeak. You should hear some of the things he's always muttering. The loneliness drove him barmy._

_I hope you're doing well, and Buckbeak and I cannot wait to see you at Grimmauld Place._

_Sirius_

_PS: Don't reply and stop sending Hedwig on owl missions – her colour is too loud in the air and many know she belongs to you. Rather use that little owl of Ron's._

It was his longest letter by far and a huge improvement from the five-word-short notes he had been owling him before. What could Harry say? The letter was both disappointing and elating: on one hand, he now knew he was being watched even after proving that he could take care of himself. On the other, he was excited to see Sirius's new place, or old home as he had referred to it. Though he could not wait to see Sirius with Draco, as Dumbledore had promised, and announce their relationship to him and see his reaction to it, the possibility still existed that he might not survive Hogsmeade, or if he did, return with the same number of limbs. Yet there was also something peculiar about these reawakened fears: they were shallow. How could one attempt to come to terms with one's death or being hurt beyond one's most fearsome nightmares?

"Is it from Padfoot?" Hermione asked from the other side of the table. Her flush was absent now and her eyes were narrowed against the feverishly twittering Pigwidgeon above the table.

Harry looked up at her and familiarized himself with his surroundings, noticing that Ron and Draco jumping back after reading his letter with him. Harry pocketed it. "Yeah," he answered as he eyed Draco, who quickly stared at his plate and had the decency to look embarrassed after refusing to share his missive with Harry. Harry turned back to Ron. "So what's that?"

Ron turned back to his note from his twin brothers' joke shop and excitement rekindled in his face.

"Shoulda gotten this days ago, bloody hell!" After swatting at the grey blur of Pigwidgeon again, Ron straightened the note again and held it between him and Harry so they could read it.

_Dear Ronny Ronnikins…_

"The bleeding tossers," said Ron at the twins' affectionate name for him.

_…Sorry, little brother, for sending this owl after eight tall days  
The orders are coming and fast and guess what, it all pays!  
What's this we hear about needing more Wheezes, little Ronnikins?  
And about attaining them for free because you're one of our next-of-kins?  
Surely you're not trying to outshine our reputation at Hogwarts  
Because you can count on the fact that that's hogwash!  
But you speak of something that maketh our hearts warm  
Provided, of course, that you give the pay and fill the form!  
But at what you connive we confess we are privy  
Suspect, we do, that it's more than just a skivvy  
So tell you what we'll do, dear little brother  
And if you dissent then we won't have to bother  
Tell us what exactly with your Wheezes you wish to achieve  
Entertain us please with something more than just mischief  
But sign and guarantee us it will not make your life stranger  
Or put you and your friends in any kind of mortal danger  
Mum needn't more encouragement to drag us back home  
And every day have us plucking out a garden gnome  
If you comply with the above then you may receive your wish  
And sooner than you think – perhaps on your next dish!  
So you see, little Ronnikins, you can't be miffed  
All is fair and, oh, your plate need shift._

_Least sincerely and most sinisterly,_

_Your brothers, Fred and George_

_PS: HEADS UP!_

Sure enough, before any of them could react, something small and brown came hurtling straight for them and landed in Ron's plate. _SPLASH!_Their food splattered everywhere: bits of egg shot up Harry's nose, prompting his sneezing fit, and some marmalade streaked into his hair. The pancake on Ron's plate, his fifth, slapped him and stuck on his forehead.

"_Euargh!_" moaned Ron, who could barely open his right eye as it was glued shut by the pancake syrup that had dribbled down his forehead.

"_Scourgify,_" Hermione said, and the mess disappeared.

"Thanks," Ron mumbled, the red tinge returning fervently to his newly clean face. "He's barely any better than Errol!" He glared at the tawny owl that had keeled over. And as though it had sensed Ron had addressed it, or at least remarked on its quality of service, the owl, with sudden energy, flapped itself back onto its feet. Harry thought it was rather like a cross between old, lazy Errol and small, over-energetic Pigwidgeon.

The reason for its unceremonious landing became quickly apparent: it was carrying a large, stuffed sack. And when Ron made to grab it the new owl gave a loud, alarmed hoot, turned its back away from his hand and kicked out the leg around which a note was tied as it glared vehemently at Ron.

Ron stared at the owl and then released a hearty chortle. "Am I supposed to sign that and give you a few Galleons?"

The middle-sized tawny owl gave another shrill, almost alarmed hoot, widening its eyes threateningly at Ron and shook its raised foot. Ron chuckled again. "Just give me the goods, will you? Fred and George are nutters if they think I'm gonna pay for these." And he made another attempt to grab the black sack, but the owl screeched again and kicked out forcefully as big, amber eyes positively killed Ron little by little.

"All right, little birdy," Ron snapped, growing impatient. "I said I'm not paying for that – I'm family. Give me that bag!" The redhead leaped from his chair, hands flying for the owl, which was the faster to move between the pair: it took flight, ferociously slapped Ron several times across the head, giving him a few scratches to his face to complement, thereafter landing near Hedwig, who gave Ron what was unmistakably a cackling screech. But she suddenly cut off, ruffled her feathers and froze again as though berating herself for letting herself act like that in front of Dragonfly, who was watching all of this down the length of his beak, not amused in the slightest. Hedwig glared at the tawny owl next to her as though offended by its proximity.

"Argh! Bloody—owl—fuckin' hell-!"

"Ron! We're in the Great Hall, watch your tongue, why don't you!" berated Hermione.

"That nuttin' owl just attacked me! Did you see that, Harry? Oi!"

Harry was trying hard to keep a straight face.

"You, come here!" growled Ron, leaning over the table again.

"Ron, just sign the form and give him the money," said Hermione, whose lips were twitching.

"You don't get it," said Ron adamantly, flapping at the owl, which drew back again and kicked its leg again. "I'm blood – it's not fair." He suddenly went still: something seemed to dawn on him as he eyed Hedwig. "Harry, tell Hedwig to give me that bag – she's got some attitude, she'll get this tossin' owl straightened out in no time."

"Hedwig is not going to do your bidding!" Hermione protested angrily.

"Besides," said Harry, "she wouldn't wanna look bad in front of Dragonfly here." Ron regarded the enormous eagle owl on the table warily.

"What are you trying to say, Potter?" Draco asked aggressively.

"Haven't you noticed?" piped up Seamus, joining in the conversation from five seats away and leaving behind Dean, who looked slightly less tense now, to finish up his breakfast. "Hedwig and Dragonfly-"

But at his name Dragonfly gave a low hoot that sounded more threatening than if he had raised his talons: Seamus stopped talking and raised his arms in a conciliatory manner as he dropped back down into his seat. Dragonfly ruffled his feathers regally in satisfaction and peeked down at Hedwig with one eye undoubtedly to see if she was impressed.

"Yeah, Harry, tell Malfoy to tell Dragonfly to rip him apart," said Ron.

"Ron!" Hermione chided, looking scandalized.

"Why don't you tell him yourself?" Harry replied.

"Malfoy, tell that monster of yours to rip this thing apart," Ron promptly ordered the Slytherin without looking at him.

"My 'monster' is not going to do your bidding," Draco told him.

Hermione blushed quietly as Ron glared at Draco.

"Don't you have the money?" asked Harry before he could catch himself. He quickly bowed his head to hide his flush and looked at Ron apologetically from underneath his forehead.

"That's not the point," Ron rebuffed with shaky dignity.

Draco sighed and drawled in an exasperated voice, "Dragonfly, rough him up a little bit, will you?" And before anyone could even turn to the eagle owl, it unfolded one of its huge wings and delivered a single slap around Hedwig that sent the tawny delivery owl sliding five feet down the table and finally within Ron's reach. Hermione gasped as there was a small eruption of laughter around the table that did much to lighten the mood. The injured owl hooted dazedly on the table, its previously insistent leg far from alive and kicking now.

Victorious, Ron took the opportunity to untie the black sack from the owl's neck and claimed it. "Something for tonight!" he whispered at Harry with a mischievous grin which was quite fitting of his twins but which also looked a little ridiculous with scratches on his face.

Harry was only able to return it with a superficial grin. Tonight was not something to grin about.

"When did you order those, anyway?" Hermione asked, looking a little disapprovingly at the black sack Ron was pocketing but also wildly impressed.

"About a week ago," Ron replied aloofly with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It might surprise you that some of us can contribute too even if we can't claim to have defeated evil wizards multiple times or know our way around a book as well others do."

Thankfully the bell did not given Hermione time to recover from her shock and indignation. The deafening scraping of chairs and clinking cutlery announced the students' exiting from the Great Hall for their first lesson of the day. Leaving Pigwidgeon literally doing circling around the tawny owl flying jerkily out of the Hall with neither a completed form nor money, Harry walked out with Draco beside him. Ron and Hermione followed them wearing matching blushes after she reluctantly healed his scratches.

When they ascended the silver stairs through the trapdoor, Professor Trelawney, right on cue, claimed in her mistiest voice yet that she had seen the gates of hell through which the late headmaster had fallen, and calamity and disaster. If it had not been for the sake of Draco's safety Harry would have left the humid, sleep-inducing room a while back. As it was, he was rifling through his rucksack in search of a piece of parchment. He tore it from his pad, took out his quill (Trelawney maintained that early things like pens were of no use in the art of divination) and scribbled a note as surreptitiously as he could on his thigh so Draco could not what it. He asked Ron to pass it on after he read it.

Meanwhile Professor Trelawney was taking visible and complete relish in telling them of the process by which she had prophesied Dumbledore's death (at some point she mentioned unwrapping a Chocolate Frog that was wise beyond its 'years' and did not fear being eaten because it knew she would not eat it). As Harry's note made the rounds several heads turned to him, looked at Draco and nodded furtively.

The news of fewer lessons and a free afternoon had done little for the spirits of everyone in the castle, however. In the lessons leading up to Transfiguration, which they were now due to attend, many acquaintances Harry and his friends met in the corridors – and quite often a teacher would be hovering nearby trying to appear as though they had mistaken their path – reported that even the teachers were reluctant to do anything in the periods.

Ernie Macmillan, of whom Harry had grown less annoyed after he was soundly humiliated by Draco, said, "Binns outdid himself today. If you thought he was tranquilizing before, you should've been there today. Then you'll know what it means to be truly KOd – forget Trelawney's incense. Mason actually slept long enough to have a nightmare, screaming and all. When he saw Binns he screamed again and ran out. You can probably tell he was having nightmares about ghosts."

"But how do you have nightmares about ghosts when you've lived around them here for five years?" asked Ron with impatient astonishment – he did not like Ernie Macmillan much as well.

Macmillan made a supercilious noise of agreement and shook his head, both actions of which irritated Ron immensely. "And after he ran out," continued Macmillan as though he did notice Ron's scowl, "the class followed him. How could Binns stop us being a ghost and all? And Slughorn, he just gave us a simple Texture-Tinker Potion to do – easiest full marks I ever got."

Hermione took extreme offence at once. "Texture T-? That should have been a first-year potion! Right after the colour-changing ones!"

"Everything should be done in first year in your opinion, Hermione," said Harry. "You'd be happy if we finished our school career in one exam sitting."

On any other day Ron would have congratulated him handsomely for this tease, but today he barely gave a twitch of his lips.

Beyond this sudden lethargy that apparently nearly keeled Professor Binns as well as his class over, the students of Hogwarts were visibly gripped by a heavy air of apathy, as their faces drooped and their bags dragged on the floor. And the fact that many of them were to be pulled out of school by their parents, who were shaken by the headmaster's gruesome murder, did not improve their spirits.

"I shouldn't have told them about that Dark fire in the Great Hall that day," Parvati whined to Lavender as they made their way to Transfiguration ahead of Harry. "I shouldn't have told them about Harry _breathing_ fire. And why did I have to tell them about Harry and Malfoy? About the rocky and tremulous path that ultimately led to their magical union? They're thinking there's a perverted half-man, half-dragon haunting Hogwarts and preying on young pretty boys. Oh, Lavvy, how are you ever going to finish our first edition of _The Hogwarts Howler_ without me? We had it all drafted out: _Draco Picks Potter over Pansy_. _Harry & Draco: Our Hero saves the Hogwarts Hearthrob. _Or_ Harry & Draco: The White Knight & the Dark Horse_. Or _Harry vs Draco, or Was It Harry & Draco All Along?_"A few seconds of stirring passion burned in her face, but then the lips quivered, the eyes flooded, and Parvati burst into tears and buried her face in Lavender's chest as they entered the classroom.

The only good thing to come out of these tearful words was that Harry was not being chased by camera flashes any longer and indeed Parvati's and Lavender's gossipy scribbling. However, the good news ended there, as the Transfiguration classroom suddenly felt ten degrees hotter to Harry than it had when he entered it, almost rivalling that of Trelawney's stuffy, red-lit classroom.

Far too preoccupied to pay any attention in class, the class did not even bother with manners, and they bleated at each other about every kind of complaint under the sun that had suddenly risen to the front of their minds that day. Professor McGonagall, after giving them twenty minutes of rare freedom, recapped some of the work they had covered in preparation for OWLs in a few months.

When finally the period ended and they spilled out of the Transfiguration classroom, they found the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins heading towards the classroom for their own Transfiguration period. Harry felt an inexpressible rush of gratitude and affection for the DA members and his Housemates who had promptly formed a large, protective circle around him and Draco. Harry took Draco by the hand. Seeing them close ranks, the Slytherins merely smirked and looked away.

Harry picked up on a wild mop of blond ringlets and saw Pansy Parkinson still wearing her disgusting look of longing as she pouted at Draco's back. A few heads down the line Harry caught sight of Blaise, Draco's other tall and broad-shouldered friend. He was leaning against the wall and his detached expression made him seem as though he was staring through Draco. Yet he responded with a twitch of his eyebrow after Draco gave him a subtle wink, and neither had looked at the other. Harry had caught all of this and was a little bedazzled and more than irritated by it, as he would be at any suggestion of a relationship between Draco and Blaise that was beyond platonic.

When his senses came back to him he felt quite stupid and sheepish. If Draco and Blaise wanted to be together, they would have done so before a long time ago, given that they had lived in the same House, hung around the same crowd and probably visited each other in the holidays. Now certain more than ever before that Draco was his alone, the boy next to him seemed to glow with ethereal beauty. His face was of an angel, and his hair, as the sunbeams struck it, was of a diaphanous brilliance. How could Harry think Draco's beauty was manufactured if it struck like so? Flattered, complimented by nature itself?

When they were clear of potential threats and the group around them unclenched slightly, Harry noticed that many passers-by were staring at him and Draco, though mostly Draco. He had noticed this before and had seen it happening more often. But it was the boys who amazed Harry. They were being preposterous, he thought, and a great deal more annoying.

And Draco never noticed being slurped up by almost every eyeball that went by, as though his silver eyes ghosted over the gawking, the ogling and the gaping. it was something so irksome to Harry, particularly today after Draco's half wink at Blaise, that he actually clucked to distract at an ugly, pig-tailed Hufflepuff girl with dirty-blonde hair from looking at Draco and gave her a blazing glare, swivelling his head with her as she passed. And he would have said something rude to her if it were not for the flash of platinum-blond hair that shaved his eye and that he instinctively knew did not belong to Draco. As his stomach plunged to the flagstone floor, he spotted, striding majestically towards them, the tall and short figures of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

Draco came to a sudden stop, followed by Harry and his friends. A few members of their DA escort went past but slowed down deliberately. Draco's hand nearly crushed Harry's as he stared straight ahead at his approaching parents before he quickly flung Harry's hand away. He reached inside his breast pocket and, without looking at Harry, handed him the note he had received that morning. Harry took it but dread had already swelled inside his chest.

_Draco,_

_Have your belongings in order by half past noon._

_Malfoy_


	34. The Malfoys Asunder

**Chapter 34**

**The Malfoys Asunder**

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy strode through the corridor teaming with students changing classrooms.

They seemed not to have noticed Harry and Draco and had every intention of sweeping past them for the Transfiguration classroom to speak with the now headmistress. They looked straight in front of them, with their chins parallel to the floor and their expensive robes swishing. Something about the way the light shining through the mullioned windows and glass ceiling hit their blond heads, pale skin and their easy, light-footed, wraith-like movement down the hallway annoyed Harry immensely. That sense of feeling unworthy and intrusive to an air of class he could never fathom or reach that gripped him before he took a Portkey with them to their manor a weeks ago revisited him.

"…Could have done a lot better at Durmstrang, Cissy. Really, what do you call this?" Lucius was sneering, nostrils flaring in revulsion as he looked behind him at something Harry could not see until a few moments the shining bald patch, quivering jowls and a slinky, feline companion came into view. Argus Filch hobbled in the shadow of the Malfoys, grumbling under his breath and wearing a most vexed expression on his face, and trotting at his heels was Mrs Norris, the wary and suspicious look in whose enormous eyes seemed comical in the daylight.

Harry and Draco watched the Slytherin's parents draw nearer and began passing without saying a word, Draco due to shock and Harry due to wishful thinking that the sight of Draco's parents were almost-real projections of his highest anxieties and he was hallucinating. But then Narcissa looked aside sharply in their direction and caught sight of Draco as though she had sensed him before she saw him with some awesome preternatural maternal instincts. Her pale blue eyes widened slightly as she softly alerted her husband.

"Draco," she whispered as she left Lucius's side and glided over to Draco. Lucius turned to them as well, letting his long, white-blond sway off his shoulders onto his back. Harry could not decide whether his seeing the way he saw the Malfoy was a result of feeling inferior to them by way of both class and money or the Malfoys were truly graceful in almost every way. But certainly they had not produced a very classy child, for Harry had been intimately acquainted with Draco's sharp tongue. Lucius's cold, steel eyes caught Harry and narrowed. Harry held them and returned their intensity.

"Draco," Narcissa said again, bending to take Draco in a deep hug and closing her eyes.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," Lucius growled, boring his eyes into his son over Narcissa's shoulder. "You would let us pass without a word, would you?"

"I—I never would—I didn't see-"

"Narcissa dear, you're embarrassing us," Lucius tittered at his wife disapprovingly as he cut across Draco. Draco's stuttering seemed to have switched something off in Lucius's head, and he had not heard a word Draco said. He swept his frosty gaze around the corridor streaming with students and his upper lip curled onto itself when his eyes landed on Hermione and the rest of the entourage, particularly lingering on Ron and Ginny as though he found them all no less repulsive than Filch.

Narcissa finally let go of Draco but remained crouched as she looked level into Draco's face with what appeared to Harry as an admiring, almost romantic gleam in her eyes. "My little dragon, you're alright," she said tremulously. It was decidedly the most emotional Harry had ever seen her and he found it slightly disconcerting truly. She straightened up, clasped her hands, stepped back and stood proudly beside her husband, now quite controlled and reserved.

Lucius drew breath. His broad chest as his looked from his wife to son with a strict, disapproving look. Harry was immensely tempted to hold Draco's hand to see what Lucius would do.

"Mr Potter," Lucius said in a would-be polite voice if it were not for the cold, unimpressed once-over he gave Harry. And he somehow even managed to make the look mocking without exerting himself, or at least Harry thought it did.

"Malfoy," Harry returned in a cool voice, looking up into the cold, grey eyes inherited shade for shade, pixel for pixel by Draco. Lucius raised his eyebrow, half smiling, and Harry again felt mocked and analysed every action he had made that could be ridiculed since being in Lucius's presence.

Lucius turned to his son. "Would you care to explain this, Draco?" he asked. It could not have been more obvious as to what he was referring to by 'this'.

Some few moments passed without a word from the four of them. Harry turned to Draco, wondering why he was being so quiet. Draco was again acting in a way Harry had never seen him act. Looking nervous and even scared before his father, Draco could not have looked more mortal, human, more vulnerable and relatable, when he usually made every effort and took every opportunity to set himself apart, be it brown-nosing Snape to find out other students' marks or holding court at the Slytherin table whereby he would launch into an entertaining monologue ridiculing either Harry or those with whom he associated himself.

Harry remembered in Draco's memory Draco being carried by his father to some room after Voldemort raped him. In front of his father Draco was decidedly anything but the Draco Harry had always known. He was not confident and seemed younger and perpetually discomposed. Now Draco's eyes were darting around the busy corridor nervously and only looking at the bottom half of Lucius's face. His mouth worked silently, uttering fragments of words which were barely coherent, while Lucius watched him closely, grey eyes gazing.

"Dumbledore wanted Potter to follow me, for my safety," Draco said finally, if a little shakily.

Harry quickly looked back at Lucius and nearly missed another swift and mocking, grey-eyed once-over. "Are you telling me you had to be followed everywhere by thi—by Potter?" he said as he wheezed in amusement and grinned incredulously.

Lucius's moment of incredulity, which interrupted his usual imposing and judgemental presence, visibly emboldened Draco, who nodded at his father. "I'd be lucky if I got a minute to myself in the bathroom."

Lucius said and did nothing for several moments as he gazed down at his son, who visibly resumed his nervous air of before. "I'm even getting shuttled these days, if you can believe it," Draco went on in a most familiar drawl, and he crossed his arms. Harry saw a sliver of the Draco he knew. As Draco spoke he casually and dismissively waved his hand at Ron, Hermione and the rest of the Gryffindors around them. Lucius did not spare them a glance but watched Draco carefully as he continued explaining his circumstances at Hogwarts.

Lucius adjusted the snake-headed cane in his hand and inclined his chin slightly. "I assume this… 'shuttle' service of sorts was effected after Nott junior's attempt on your life a week ago?"

What was so baffling about the question that it left Draco puzzled Harry did not know. The Slytherin's confidence seeped out of him swiftly.

"Yeah," Harry lied in Draco's stead.

"I believe I wasn't addressing you, Potter," said Lucius sharply.

"But you still got your answer," Harry pointed out calmly. Lucius narrowed his eyes at him.

"We would like to thank you for trying to save our son," interjected Narcissa through the tension. But her look at Harry was less than grateful: she seemed careful and assessing, and that curious, minute upward curl of the side of her lips lent her pale-blue eyes not a single degree of warmth. "And we appreciate every attempt that has been made at protecting him since."

"Of course," was all Lucius offered after a pause, and he gave Harry a depthless smile.

"Pleasure," replied Harry, eyeing them back with hardly any warmth himself.

"Then again," continued Lucius slowly, unaware of Draco's pinked cheeks, and as his gaze grew lazy and dim at Harry but the frost in them could not have glistened more sharply, "we should not forget, Narcissa, that it was Potter here who was possessed by the Dark Lord himself, thereby exposing our attempts to forge an allegiance with Dumbledore-"

"It wasn't my fault," Harry said indignantly. And he used Lucius's astonishment that he dared interrupt him to push on, "I was angry that nobody was doing anything to keep him away from Voldemort!"

Quietly Lucius swept his gaze around the corridor before he threw a blazing glare down at Harry. "Do watch the volume in which you speak to me, Potter – I am not Dumbledore. Do not expect the same tolerance from me." And his eyes blazed like gurgling, deadly mercury. There was something routine, well-used and familiar about the action, and Harry could have sworn he saw the snake cane twitch. "Be that as it may, it does not change the fact that it was still you who walked, or rather, _slithered_ through those doors, privy to my and Dumbledore's conversation. But I forget, I shouldn't be surprised by your meddlesome nature. It was only natural to catch your glimpse wherever matters of a delicate – and private – nature which have nothing to do with an overly-prized, attention-glorifying teenager are being attended to."

"If it hadn't been for this 'overly-prized, attention-glorifying teenager,' you wouldn't have a son to be fetching right now!" Harry shot back hotly.

"I remind you again," growled Lucius very quietly through a tight grill of shining, straight teeth, silver eyes boring into Harry fatally, "It would not have been so if it had not been for your interruption. It would not have been so had you not arrived with the Dark Lord's eyes and angered him with our seeming treachery and sentencing Draco to be ravaged by..."

Lucius had not finished his sentence but Draco's face was stolen by shock as he stared up at his father. More students heading for their next class stopped and stared.

"Oh," lilted Harry, matching Lucius's glare, beside himself as well. "Sure. Let's forget that Voldemort-" Lucius and Narcissa gave flinches so enormously satisfying to Harry that he would have lost his thread if it were not for his frothing anger. "-was by this time already fantasizing and fucking D-"

_SLASH!_

It happened faster than the strike of a snake: the snake cane flashed across his face and for a moment Harry stared at the face above him – marble white like a death mask, quivering with mercurial fury, perfect teeth bared. He felt nothing as he stared at erupted silver and a moment seemed to span infinitely as the fringes of his vision presented him with the outraged faces and fists of his fellow House- and schoolmates. But then the sting started sizzling across his left cheek and over the bridge of his nose – his hand flew up and clapped his face. And gradually the sound started filtering through his head, louder and louder, angrier and angrier – students were approaching, yelling obscenities borne out of outrage. And then came the sharp, incredulous voice of Professor McGonagall.

"Mr Malfoy!" Amidst the cacophony of screams and pumping fists Harry could hear the click of heels on the cobblestone floor. "Students, step back! Mr Malfoy… Mr Malfoy, is there perhaps a good reason why you're attacking my students?"

But Lucius did not look fit to answer. He had eyes only for Harry and the hand around his still-aloft cane was perhaps as white as his face, the knuckles a row of five bone-gleaming marbles. His fury was singing and flowing endlessly down his tall figure like vapour over ice.

"Mr Malfoy, please lower your staff!" McGonagall ordered sharply.

After a moment Lucius slowly lowered his arm, his jawbone thumping under the taut skin of his cheeks. Beside him Narcissa seemed stiff, almost as pale as Lucius, and her eyes appeared slightly washed. The noise of the students died. Ron and Hermione had flown to Harry's side, glaring passionately at Lucius. Draco, who had raised his arms and flinched as the snake came across Harry, was looking as though he did not know what to do with himself.

Lucius took a deep, slow breath, his broad chest inflating. His look at Harry had grown lazy and dim again, which Harry had learned meant Lucius was at his most threatening. "That, I'm afraid, is no concern of yours, Headmistress," Lucius replied quietly.

"My students' safety, I'm afraid, _is_ my concern," McGonagall returned crisply, nostrils flaring more furiously than ever. But Lucius seemed not to have heard her and continued to stare flatly at Harry, who closed his gaping mouth, slowly released his cheek without bothering to look at the two red lines across his palm from the fangs of the snake cane, and without straightening his glasses gave Lucius his dirtiest and loudest glare.

"I suppose I cannot hope your belongings are in order already, Draco?" asked Lucius without looking at his son.

"No, I haven't packed yet," Draco replied. He was looking at the ground and standing loftily, shakily on it as though he were not sure of his own presence any longer.

"Yes," Lucius said, exhaling slowly. "We had to come slightly earlier than we planned, and we do not wish to linger here any longer than we have to." He finally looked away from Harry and gazed above the heads of the ring of students around them towards the Transfiguration classroom in front of which the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins had pooled sluggishly. His eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze sharpened. "We must be on our way as soon as possible. We couldn't have come directly after Nott junior's trial as we had to keep carefully accommodated."

"Did you know your precious son nearly died again?" Harry spat, wishing to hurt in any other way than physically as had just been done to him. Lucius turned sharply to him and eyed him wordlessly. "Yeah. Fauss and his friends, just this Wednesday. This close-" Harry brought his thumb and index nearly together. "-to joining Nott's father."

Lucius's eyes flicked from Harry to Draco and then back to Harry, staring, questioning, looking for truth, for confirmation. Narcissa, though the small, upward curl to her lips still persisted, looked plainly terrified.

"What is this drivel?" hissed Lucius, his silver eyes still staring at Harry with piercing intensity as though the prongs of a silver fork were piercing Harry's eyes.

"Potter, what are you talking about?" McGonagall enquired sharply.

"Yeah, and he would have if it hadn't been for this-" Harry forcefully framed two quotation marks, caring not for McGonagall's question – it was between him and Lucius alone. "-'overly-prized, attention-glorifying teenager.' Your precious little heir would have snuffed it. Fauss's Killing Curse nearly shaved his hair off the way it came so close. But luckily Dumbledore came and-"

"You said if it hadn't been for yourself, not Dumbledore," Lucius pointed out sharply, clearly grasping for every little detail about his son's near death.

"Yeah," said Harry, savagely relishing Lucius's alarm. "I made the portrait send a message to Dumbledore and he came just in the nick of time, he did."

"When was this?" asked McGonagall in alarm, looking from him to Draco, the hands in front of her lap wringing her wand anxiously.

Lucius's stare quickly sharpened to a glare. "We must be leaving – we haven't any time to afford." He regarded his son. "Last Tuesday we were informed you'd been moved to a secret location within the castle. Lead the way."

"Yes, Father," mumbled Draco in a disturbingly automatic way. He made to stride past Harry but the Gryffindor flung a halting arm in his path.

"Why're you taking Draco out of school?"

"He has asked urgent permission to do so yesterday via an ultra owl, Potter," McGonagall told Harry briskly. "But I refer to your claim of Mr M-"

"Lead the way, Draco. Merlin will have me damned if I have to answer to him." He turned to Professor McGonagall. "You must forgive me for my earlier spasm of thoughtlessness, Headmistress. There are some things that just should not be tolerated. A pity we cannot be more hands on with disciplining our children these days. I'm quite happy to compensate the school anyhow." He made to slide his wand out of his cane but Harry, Ron and Hermione had theirs in his face first. Ginny, Dean and Seamus jerked as though to whip their wands out as well. Lucius raised his eyebrow and regarded the raised wands pointed at him. He then slowly slid the rest of wand out of his cane, pointed it at Harry – a tense pause the space of a heartbeat – and softly spoke an incantation that instantly removed the gashes on Harry's face, and it was anew.

"Mr Weasley, Ms Granger!" McGonagall cried, scandalized. "Please lower your wands!"

"Lucius, we must make haste," whispered Narcissa as she touched his arm after looking away from the Hufflepuff and Slytherins.

"Yes, you're quite right," said Lucius. "I'm quite enough of this pestilential amusement park," he sneered as he swept his contemptuous gaze around the crowd. His eyes found Filch again and widened maliciously. "Where you have… you call yourself a caretaker?" he asked cuttingly, giving Filch a severe once-over, at which point Filch's face become one of ugly confusion as he stood among them with his greasy, shabby clothes, ankle-length pants and generally pathetic appearance. Lucius took in the students, the corridor, and the portraits that lined them before he began dusting himself unnecessarily. "Well, that is that. It's quite evident Hogwarts has fallen sharply in standards. It might not be helped. Well then, Draco, please do take us to your abode – as your mother said, we should be on our way. Headmistress, about that donation?"

"We're doing quite all right at the moment, thank you," said McGonagall curtly as she fashioned him a tight smile.

Lucius shrugged aloofly and started to turn away from Harry, his hair already fluttering presumptuously, but Harry held Draco back for the second time and said to Lucius, "There's something else you don't know about your son, Malfoy."

Lucius turned back to him and his face betrayed his exasperation. "I don't have time for these games, Potter. We're running a tight schedule. Leave my son alone and we'll be done with you. I truly don't see the need to hover over him at all times to the point that he cannot hold a complete conversation with his parents without your ever vigorous mouth intruding. It's disturbing, quite frankly, as is your use of his first name. Now do excuse yourself – I did not come here to chat with you, Potter, no matter how powerful your delusions of self-importance are."

Harry stared into those proud, haughty grey eyes. This was going to be so delicious, so satisfying, he could not hold back any longer…

"Draco and I-"

"Potter, I swear," breathed Draco in a low, quiet, almost desperate voice. Draco had cast his head down and staring at the floor. And there returned that eerie stillness about him as though his body did not pulse normally in tune with his heartbeat. He looked pale, unmoving, barely able to breathe, and a single line of taut, rigid sinew. There was clear panic in every line of his body. Harry considered him. Perhaps he was being a little selfish trying to devastate his father to Draco's detriment.

"At least have the courtesy to finish your sentence, Potter," said Lucius with annoyance. "'Draco and you what? It's not enough that you call him Draco but you've also contented yourself with mentioning you and him in the sentence."

It would have been so elating to smash that pride down – sever it with seven simple words: 'Draco and I are seeing each other.'

"I think taking Draco away from Hogwarts's a good idea. He's already had two attempts at his life – we shouldn't have him around for them to try again."

There was a moment's pause before Lucius burst into incredulous speech, spit flying out of his mouth. "Do you truly think I care about what you think, Potter? Truly? I will decide what is best for my son, and I do not need Harry Potter to agree with me, so sorry to inform you. Again, we thank you for your efforts in keeping Draco whole. And now we'll be off. Quickly, Draco."

"I can have the DA escort him safely while you stay here," suggested Harry, who hoped to have a few private moments with Draco before he left.

"What? What's this DA?" Lucius spat, before a caustic smile took over his face, "Oh no, forgive me. I presume it's the name of this shuttle service of your, is it? The 'DA'?"

"Yes it is – Dumbledore's Army. And it's far safer to have him escorted by twenty-odd students than one man. And a woman."

Lucius's eyes were narrowed on Harry again. "How about my wife and I come along – that makes it twenty-two? And I daresay our magic is infinitely more impressive than that of a school child."

No, this would ruin his plan. He did not want Lucius to come because he would not be able to lure Draco away.

"There are some forms that will need filling, Mr Malfoy, for removing a student from school before the year is over," said McGonagall. And Harry felt a rush of gratitude towards her and was suddenly sorry for ignoring her.

"Ah, of course," Lucius drawled as he drew himself to his fullest, impressive height. "You get what you wish, Potter. You relish it that way, don't you?"

"Quite," Harry replied with a wide, wildly contrived smile before he took Draco by the arm and led them away, whereupon the DA reformed their protective circle around them.

"Thanks, guys," said Harry to them.

"Sure, Harry," said Seamus, walking along as he looked back at Lucius's figure. "Blimey, the right bastard!"

"That's my father you're talking about, Finnigan," Draco rebuked Seamus before releasing himself from Harry's grip. He did not care to see Seamus pale and splutter his apology but turned to Harry. "I can't believe you were going to do that. You nearly destroyed my life, you know that, Potter?"

"You can call me Harry, he won't hear you from here," said Harry flippantly.

"At the present I prefer Potter!"

"He would've deserved it."

"Yeah," said Ron, "I agree with Seamus, he's such a-"

"Ron," chided Harry. "You know how much I'd love to call him that many times over with a few more prized swearwords on the side but he's Draco's father, after all."

Ron looked at Harry as though he did not know him anymore.

"What were you going to say, Harry?" piped up Parvati innocently. "Who was fantasizing and-?"

"I can't believe he just attacked you like that! He's got a lot of nerve!" burst out Hermione, throwing Parvati a fierce glance. Then her eyes darted around her middle as though looking for a random elf. Harry suspected that looking out for a camera at her waist was becoming as instinctual for her as it had for him.

"Can we stop discussing my father, please?" Draco asked loudly to everyone and looked behind him at said person.

"So, Draco, you're saying I would've destroyed your life if I'd told him you were with me?" asked Harry loftily, but it could not have been clearer it was a serious question, and as though the DA understood this, they went very quiet very quickly.

"That's exactly right!" replied Draco unapologetically at once.

"So you're never going-"

"Of course I'm never going to tell him!" Draco rapped, his voice going up an octave as he spoke. "Are you mad? He'll-" But Draco did not finish his sentence and was breathing hard.

The students around were still deadly quiet except for their footsteps as they walked and the general milling of other students streaming up and down the corridors for their last period for the day.

"Sorry," said Harry after a while.

"You should be!" Draco exploded before he exhaled sharply as though his breath had been knocked out of him by the mere thought of what would have happened had Harry told. "Never been—Potter, you have—I mean, trust funds, policies, the investors, Spouse-Sparing Charm, the Malfoy line…"

"I get it. It's okay, bloody hell. I said I'm sorry, calm down, why don't you before you burst a vein."

Draco looked back to where McGonagall and Lucius and McGonagall were standing. He lowered his voice to Harry and said, "Potter, he can never know that… well… He can never know."

"So where does that take us, then?" asked Harry still in that lofty, almost casual tone.

Draco made an uncertain, raspy sound at the back of his throat as he stared at Harry as though he had just been Confunded. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, us – what does this mean for us? Do we have an expiration date?"

Draco merely continued to stare at Harry as though he had spoken Gobbledegook.

"Forget it – don't answer," said Harry dispassionately. "Haven't figured things out yet myself."

Draco said nothing. He still looked a little befuddled but then faced forward.

"So," Hermione nervously piped up in the sudden tension that had fallen upon them, though there was one person among them who could not have looked happier: Ron, "does this mean we're going to skip History of Magic?"

Noises of exasperation and amusement broke out from the group which made great strides in diluting the tension.

"Hermione," began Seamus in a tone that suggested he was not addressing one of the smartest students in all of Hogwarts but rather an ungifted child, "do you truly think this is the time to mention that?"

"Well, yes," said Hermione, looking a little confused, "History's only five minutes away and if you haven't noticed we're going in the opposite direction of the class."

"But you heard what Macmillan said, Hermione," whined Ron, "Binns will literally kill us today, then he'll have a ghost class to teach – he'll die of joy, again!"

"But of course dying shouldn't get between us and our education," Seamus muttered, to the amusement of everyone.

"The point is," pressed Hermione firmly, "we cannot miss our class for Malfoy – he's getting out of school so he's got nothing to lose. But we-"

"We can borrow the other's notes, can't we?" Harry suggested.

"After they've fainted when they found out Hermione wasn't in the class," said Seamus.

"No, they'll faint when the teacher asks a question and they don't see Hermione's hand flapping in the air," said Ron. "Oh no, wait, Binns doesn't ask questions, I forgot…"

"How much are we going to lose out on, anyway?" Harry asked aloofly.

"Excuse me?" Hermione gasped as though Harry had just stated that the world was flat.

"History of Magic is History of Magic is History of Magic," droned Seamus, before singing, "History doesn't change. We'll find it the same way we will find it tomorrow…"

Hermione huffed. "Besides," said Harry, "would you have Draco being attacked on your conscience? Did you see the way they were looking at him in the Great Hall at breakfast or when we passed them just now?"

"I—I-"

"Padfoot said in his letter that more people were going to become rash and reckless to get to either him or me because they know much I…" Draco flooded with colour while the boys broke out into nervous movements.

"Get to the point, Harry," Ron rapped quietly.

"The point is he's in danger more than ever," Harry continued without the slightest trace of a blush, something Hermione seemed to admire as she watched him from beneath her eyebrows. "That's why I asked you guys to shuttle us. All I'm asking is that we sacrifice this one worthless period on Goblin wars for the safety of my boyfriend."

As the unapologetic words rang among them, several students hissed almost in pain. Ron closed his eyes deeply and hung his head – he could not have looked more defeated. And many other boys were looking away from each other, blinking rapidly and rubbing their noses in a manly way. Dean, however, patted Harry on the lower back and smiled furtively at him, whereupon Harry smiled back but quickly straightened his face.

They had all barely recovered from the tension when they turned into another empty corridor. Another student attempted to get a conversation by complimenting a Hufflepuff DA member on her pink-coloured wand sprinkled with teddy bears, but his feeble words fell to the withering silence. Harry asked some of the DAs to fetch Draco's things and Ron to retrieve _Quidditch of the Connoisseur_ from whoever last had it. Hermione seemed disinclined to come along and Harry had his suspicion why. The rest of the DA escorted him and Draco to the fifth floor.

"Draco," Harry offered to the wall before it subsequently shimmered out of sight and revealed a decrepit, dusty corridor upon the walls of which hung two sorry, cobwebbed torches that appeared not to have been lit for centuries upon centuries.

"'Draco'? You've always said my name and it disappears?" asked Draco quizzically as they proceeded inside.

Harry nodded. "Worked when I came to you after Professor Strolm said me I could fetch you. Of course only that you didn't let me go back." He immediately regretted saying this and cast his eye behind him, expecting Parvati and Lavender to bloom before him and probe him for juicy details. But they were busy scrunching their noses at the corridor to pay attention to him.

"Ew!" squealed Parvati, whom along with Lavender had of course opted to join Harry and Draco. Draco stood in front of the door where the portrait of an attractive mermaid hung. Harry waved at her a little sheepishly, trying to be amicable about it, but the mermaid was too preoccupied with flirting with Draco again. Draco opened his mouth to speak some Mermish code Harry had heard Dumbledore give but with an unpleasant, gruff giggle the mermaid swept the door open without the password and made cooing noises. Since she had saved him and Draco the other day from Fauss and friends Harry decided not to take umbrage at her this time.

"Thanks, guys," Harry said awkwardly as a way to inform their DA entourage that their watch ended in the corridor and not within the room itself. Parvati and Lavender gasped as though they had been doused with water and they looked around the corridor.

"Wait, are you saying we're not coming inside too?" asked Parvati, quivering with indignant disbelief.

"And stick around in this… yucky corridor?" finished Lavender, while the rest of the lesser betrayed-looking DA, except for Dean and Seamus, who looked a little expectant, trooped out and hovered in the hallway outside and started chatting among each other.

"Well, I mean—I—we can't—I have to-" Harry did not to try to come up with an excuse because the door suddenly swung on its own accord and he got out of the way before it slammed him in the face, landing in Draco's former room and Parvati and Lavender out of sight. Harry turned around. "I'll have to thank her for that as well."

"What did you thank her for the first time?" Draco asked idly as he paced around the room observantly.

"She's the one who sent a message to Dumbledore to tell him we were in trouble – that's why he came."

"So you somehow told her in Mermish to send a message to Dumbledore, and she, I presume, swam out of her portrait through a thousand other portraits, most of which are unlikely to have any water to swim through, to get to Dumbledore?"

"No. I sort of looked at her and begged her with my eyes – Fauss had cast a Silencing Charm on me, so I couldn't speak. But she saw the others and, you know, somehow worked out that they were Slytherins and—I mean bad Slytherins because, you know, there are good ones too-" Draco pretended to die of nausea. "-and I don't know, somehow told the next portrait."

"Hm," was all Draco said, still sounding sceptic. He gathered the papers on his escritoire.

"How are we going to get your wardrobe and desk out of here?" Harry asked.

Draco paused. "Hm, good question. I don't think either of us is capable of a levitation or size-reducing charm powerful enough."

Harry let out a low whistle as he picked up one of the papers on Draco's escritoire. "'Compare the gradient of the graph you have plotted for the Lumos Charm against that of the Summoning Charm… Spell as a function of first-order voice sound frequency, magical maturity and second-order aerodynamics, mass and Gravitas… What is this, Arithmancy?" Draco nodded. Harry whistled again. "This should be illegal to teach at school level. And Hermione says this is interesting…?"

"It kind of is," said Draco, bunching up the papers and snatching the one in Harry's hand. Harry gladly gave it up and made a sceptical sound as well. "Speaking of Granger, I don't think Dean and Seamus are the only one who enjoyed last rides yesterday."

Harry looked at Draco. "You mean…"

"Yes."

It was not really a surprise to hear Draco say this. "Ron and Hermione? You think they did it?"

"I think I know so, actually," said Draco. "It was disgustingly obvious." He clucked his tongue. "I mean really, I know you Gryffindors aren't the brightest of the bunch or the most cunning of the crowd, but really. It was disgusting – there's no other word for it." And he clucked his tongue again.

"But you don't know-"

"Potter, you could've practically reheated your eggs on them the way they were blushing so madly. But I have to say I'm kind of impressed even if disgusted. I mean, Granger and Weasley, who would've thought? But still, argh! A redhead and a…"

Harry was not amused – this was a little disturbing. "Can we please move away from my friends, thank you?"

"With pleasure… I was surprised by how quickly you agreed to taking me out of school."

"Yeah, well, I think you're safer at one of their Unplottable villas than here where you have nearly died twice, don't you think?" Draco shrugged and stuffed the pages parchments into the drawer. "Besides, I'm sure it's what you wanted, isn't it? Scared about if the werewolves might bite you and then you won't be a prized pureblood anymore, would you? Scared your father might disown you? Scared about your inheritance and all?"

"Amongst other things," Draco replied unabashedly.

This nerve to agree with him angered Harry, but at least Draco was being honest with him. "You're a pure coward."

"I thought you knew that already."

Harry held his tongue, biting down on his jaw. He did not have a further argument and secretly it was what he wanted as well – to have Draco safe, to have him alive, even if he might never see him again.

"I suppose you're not worried about me risking my own blood and neck going after the werewolves."

"Of course I am," said Draco quietly as he dusted off the surface of his escritoire with a charm.

"Yeah?" said Harry forcefully and sceptically, but his heartbeat was suddenly surging, even in the midst of his anger, at this seeming outward suggestion that Draco cared. "How much?"

"Very much."

"How much is 'very much'?" Harry asked aggressively, but his heart was banging against his chest, and his penis was throbbing and swelling across his thigh again.

"I don't want to see you hurt. It wouldn't do to have a boyfriend changing shape every moon cycle."

"I'm being serious here, Draco!"

"So am I."

"You just don't want to see me hurt? Is that it? Anything else?"

Draco turned to him. "What exactly do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say you love me."

The words came out unsolicited but automatic, rushing through his lips unguardedly but eagerly. "I want to hear you care about me coming back."

It was true that his fears about Hogsmeade were shallow because he could not fully and truly grasp the magnitude of the danger, so it was easy to mind them. But it was also true that he yearned to know that the person he loved was concerned about him. For once, he was willing to take advantage of acknowledging an outward entity – that he was worried about by another person. It was different from being worried about by Hermione or Mrs Weasleys or Sirius – far different. He wanted to know if Draco was genuinely worried, just as he, Harry, had been for him for so long and in such magnitudes he almost could not see past it.

Draco stared at him. Harry stared back at him, green eyes locked onto grey eyes.

"You said you'd say them back to me."

"I seem to remember there was a condition involved," said Draco smartly with the air of a man relieved from the fate of the guillotine.

"Draco, let's be serious for once! You're talking about some childish condition meanwhile I am talking about dying! Being bitten, mauled, have my face rearranged! And all you can think about is me doing wandless magic for you?"

Draco's throat rippled as he swallowed.

"Do you love me? It's a simple question."

He could not believe he was actually asking it. His lips were still fizzing, sizzling with the echo of those words. Since the moment Draco had voiced this deal in this very room after Dumbledore had left with Fauss he had not spoken any more on it. But now he was actually demanding it, demanding it because he may never hear it, and he wanted to, at least once, before…

One second…

Two seconds…

Three seconds…

Four seconds…

_SLAM!_

Harry kicked the grim wall once, twice, thrice, and threw himself down onto his backside in the dilapidated corridor outside the room. The others had stop chatting and loitering about and watched Harry stare between his legs, holding his scalp, his fingers threaded into his hair. Parvati, Lavender, Seamus and Dean took a few minutes to absorb what had just happened, throwing uncertain glances at each other before approaching Harry.

Harry looked up from the ground and glared at the portrait hanging on the wall from underneath his forehead. The portrait was empty of the mermaid for once: he did not even have the mermaid at which to glare. Taking this as another insult to him, Harry leapt to his feet, startling Parvati and the others, and made to storm past them when at that moment a blood-curdling gruff shriek broke out that overbore the shabby corridor and spilled out into the outside. And all five of them watched as the mermaid swam into view, scrambled upon her rock and began suffering some sort of fit: she shrieked and covered her ears, her eyes popping wide, giving her a demented look.

The DA members outside the corridor rushed inside to see what was causing the horrible noise. Harry looked at the mermaid, who was not attractive any more but ugly, insane, distorted and almost grotesque. Her background was not an inviting golden melting of sun and ocean – it was darker, sinister looking. The ocean was bloody, and deep-red ripples blinked malevolently at him. The disturbingly morphed portrait grew larger as the door swung open and Draco emerged with an enquiring frown.

"What's going on?" asked the Slytherin. When he spotted Harry he looked away quickly and swung back the door to look at the portrait, recoiling.

"She's flipped off her cauldron…" Seamus supplied vaguely.

Harry shot past the students without a word when he felt a warm glow in his pocket, whereupon the DA rustled, looking around at each other, searching their pockets and mumbling curiously. Harry stopped dead in his tracks, wondering what Hermione was playing at. He looked at the rest of the members, catching their confused faces. Dean, Seamus, Parvati, Lavender and Draco emerged from the side corridor but Harry looked away when he caught platinum-blond hair. He went at a trot but came to a run, all the while hearing the loud clapping of many feet on the floor as the DA followed him. They were about to turn into another corridor when red flaming hair nearly crashed into Harry. Ron and Hermione skidded to a halt, panting, their shoes squeaking on the floor, and they both looked as pale as their cuffs.

"What's going on, Hermione?" Harry asked them, looking from her to Ron.

Hermione looked slightly nauseous and both she and Ron eyed someone behind him briefly.

"Malfoy," spluttered Hermione, her eyes dancing, her face growing even paler, if it were possible. "The Slytherins… green… on the floor… not moving."

Before Harry could properly process and connect those fragments, his shoulder was battered again and Harry saw a platinum-blond streak zoom past as Draco took off. Without thinking he ran after the furiously swaying hair and the desperate click of dragon-hide heels pummelling the flagstone floor. The corridor led into and another – they swerved – and opened to a crowd gathered and milling around in the middle with their head cast down, looking at something on the ground. McGonagall was staring down at the floor, her expression most grim. Sitting against the wall were a group of tall, defiant-looking boys with Slytherin ties.

When the crowd heard the footsteps they looked behind them and a few were thrown aside ruthlessly as Draco pushed ahead. And when he got inside and his head bent downwards to take in the sight below him, he did not move any more. Harry and the rest of the DA caught up, and with a contraction of his stomach, he looked down at Draco's parents.

Lucius's long platinum-blond hair, inherited shade for shade by his son, was spread out lushly against the floor like an angel's halo. Narcissa's face was cast aside, her golden hair styled in a tight bun gleaming in the afternoon glare of the sun through the mullioned windows. Their robes were lying haphazardly around them, scattered. That aura of high-class society that had always insinuated to Harry that he was not worthy of their presence was now dispelled, blown away by the whisper of death. The cold, haughty eyes that had mocked and pierced him minutes ago were blankly grey, sightless, reflecting light purposelessly.

Draco dropped to his knees between their heads, looking slowly from his mother to his father.

The bell rang. "Students, off you go to your last classes. And thank you to those who took care of the rest of the Slytherins," shouted McGonagall, shooing the students away. They took off in all directions, putting their wands back their robes and looking back helplessly at the figures on the floor.

"Go on, guys," Harry instructed the DA, who set off to the History of Magic classroom, leaving behind him, Ron, Hermione, Professor McGonagall, the four bound Slytherins and Draco and his parents. "Mr Malfoy…" McGonagall began but did not finish her sentence as she stared down at Draco, the lines in her faces seeming more numerous and her eyebrows arched and contracted in sympathy.

Draco took his hand and raised it above his parents' faces before touching them, lingering on them, then brushing over them and closing their depthless gazes forever. Harry kneeled next to him.

"They weren't supposed to come out of hiding," Draco said.

"They… they wanted to fetch you, to take you with them so you were safe after they heard about what happened to Dumbledore. They were your parents – they cared about you."

"Shouldn't have fetched me – I was safe in Gryffindor Tower, safe in your arms."

Ron moved around restlessly, tactlessly unaware that tears were flowing down Hermione's face.

"It was natural for them to want to take you," Harry reasoned as Draco started delicately searching Lucius's robes, at which Harry was a little surprised.

Draco sniffed dryly. "I don't know where even one of their villas is." He found what he had been looking and withdrew his hand, which emerged a thick hairpin with glittering diamonds twirling around it from a pearl head. Draco looked down at it on his palm. Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged looks. "I don't know when it activates."

"I'm assuming that's a Portkey?" asked McGonagall.

"Probably," Draco replied.

"Well then, we should get your luggage in order then, Mr Malfoy," McGonagall said. "And your parents…"

Harry came to his feet and turned to Ron and Hermione. "We don't know when that Portkey activates," he said quietly to them. He read his watch. "Maybe in five minutes at half past twelve or at quarter to, or at one o' clock or something. We have to get Draco's things now."

"We didn't get past the Fat Lady last time," said Ron. "She was also screaming her head off talking about… well…" He grimaced down at Draco's parents.

"It's okay, let's go." And they made to take off but Harry was stopped by Draco's voice.

"Don't go."

It was no mystery to whom he was referring. Harry turned anxious and beseeching eyes on Ron and Hermione. "His room's on the fifth floor. Take Dean or Seamus with you, they know where it is."

Ron and Hermione nodded and set off for Gryffindor Tower at a run.

Only minutes ago he had been so infuriated with this mourner in front of him he had nearly punched him in the face and trashed his whole room apart. But now all he felt was worry and sympathy for him. He knelt back down beside him and attempted to pull Draco away from the bodies but he would not budge. Harry gave up and was himself slightly nauseated with the sight. Even though he had never liked Malfoy's parents, there was still a weight upon him, a gouged presence, an abstract heaviness around them, on their conscience. It was something else to feel it, to be encapsulated and weighed upon by it almost physically.

There was no trace of death – no smell issued, no hair fluttered, no limbs stirred. It was clinical, clean, efficient, absolute death by the Killing Curse. Harry looked at the four Slytherins, two of whose faces were morphed and remorseless, broken, just as Fauss's face had been a week ago after he had finally entranced himself enough to cast the curse which had nearly taken Draco's life as it surely has taken that of his parents.

As soon as Ron's and Hermione's footsteps disappeared another set could be heard from the other side of the corridor. Harry looked up ahead and saw Slughorn and Sprout waddling closer, Flitwick scuttling with his small legs, Moody, and to Harry's fury, Professor Trelawney.

"Aha!" cried Trelawney at once. Harry flew to his feet and McGonagall's eyebrows melded together to form one furious line. "I've seen it as well! Sad it is, of course, but the card of San-"

"We do not need your Inner Eye intruding on this delicate moment, Sybill!" shouted McGonagall.

Trelawney outstripped the other professors in her unfazed excitement, her numerous shawls flying off her shoulders. Her arrival was accompanied by a breeze of sherry. Her glasses were askew, making her magnified eyes look as demented as the mermaid.

"You must forgive me, Minerva," she said quickly, flapping her hands dismissively at McGonagall, who raised her eyebrows. "My dear young man, I'm so sorry for your loss but, yes, the White Shards of Darkness. Just when I had thought my various means of prophesying-" McGonagall snorted in contempt. "-had betrayed and abandoned me of late, this most fortuitous event occurs. It was only to the contrary as I have known it! My methods serve me ever as faithfully: Gates of Hell with our beloved Dumbledore, White Shards of Darkness: yes, the white hair must be the white part, and of course they were suspected to be sympathizers of-"

"Are you quite finished, Sybill?" asked McGonagall angrily. "Don't you have some dirty crystal balls to rub clean?"

"Merlin's teapot, we've just heard!" panted Slughorn as he waddled to a halt in front of them, looking down at Lucius and Narcissa with wide, watery eyes.

"What has happened?" squeaked Flitwick in alarm, bringing up the rear as the last to arrive, understandably.

"Ah, yes, Malfoy," growled Moody grimly as his electric-blue eye whizzed from Lucius to Draco before stopping on the four Slytherins bound against the wall. "I see. It must be one of them."

"Two," corrected McGonagall. "Two had cast the Killing Curse on the Malfoys."

As it fixed on the Slytherins Moody's unnatural eye protruded very slightly out of its socket as though zooming in on them before Moody growled, "Yeah I see them, those two – as obvious as dragon dung. Not just anyone can cast the Killing Curse; it takes something of you." The eye then swivelled to McGonagall. "You saw everything?"

"Yes," McGonagall replied, straightening her tartan cloak around herself and glaring at the four Slytherins. "I can supply the proof when it's necessary." Moody grunted.

"It's amazing how even Galleonaires die exactly the same way as does the next lame man on the street, really," observed Slughorn morosely.

"Draco, I'm so sorry for your loss," Sprout breathed as her eyes flooded with tears. But they swiftly sharpened when they caught Trelawney.

"Indeed," squeaked Flitwick.

"So," growled Moody, "what happens to the body-?"

As Moody spoke there was a flashing blue light and every eye was drawn to the ornate hairpin tightly clamped in Draco's hand, which opened. Harry's heart started beating fast. He looked back to the other end of the corridor, but Ron and Hermione were nowhere in sight – it had barely been… He looked down at his watch – 12:29. A warning flash, he suspected, and thought it would activate really in a minute. Lucius had been cutting it very thin, perhaps fearful of the very fate they had ultimately suffered. Harry kneeled back down to Draco, who turned to him.

"I'm sorry for everything-"

"Don't be stupid," rapped Harry before Draco could finish.

"You have to survive, you have to come back. I know you'll come back, because I need you…" The professors exchanged glances. "…And you're Harry Potter, you have a knack of surviving when you shouldn't. Come back to me."

"Draco," Harry breathed, his eyes irritatingly prickling with tears.

"Three deaths only hours apart," whispered McGonagall, quickly dabbing her eyes while Moody and Slughorn shifted their weight from one foot to the other. Sprout wore a sorrowful if soppy expression as she gazed down at Harry and Draco. "What is our world coming to…?"

"Most unfortunate, Minerva," said Moody quickly, "but about these bo-"

The bedazzled hairpin was flashing again.

Draco let out a shaky breath, looking panicked. Harry looked over his shoulder but there was no sight of flaming red or mouse-brown hair.

Draco grabbed Harry's arm and they both looked into each other's eyes, while the hairpin gave its third flash of blue. "I will come back, because you'll be here, alive, whole… I'll come back at… ten o'clock! In front of the Fat Lady!" And just before the hairpin flashed for the fifth time, Draco pulled his hand away, leapt forward and kissed Harry on the lips, there was a loud, urgent noise, Draco was wrenched away from Harry's lips, his fist around the hairpin shook, there was a flash of blue, and he was gone.

One of the tied-up Slytherins propped against the wall spat on the floor at the shared kiss.

Harry kneeled there, limbs limp, green eyes wide, staring at the air that had been Draco moments prior, gaping, feeling the ghost of that kiss hover over his lips.

"Well, that certainly takes care of the issue," Moody grunted as he looked at the ground where Lucius and Narcissa had been seconds before.

"Poor child," Sprout sighed softly, borrowing McGonagall's handkerchief to dry her eyes. McGonagall gave her terse look but said nothing.

"Yes," said Trelawney a little forlornly, and it could not be said for what she sounded forlorn – for Draco genuinely or the fact that the subjects of her Inner Eye were removed from her. "Yes, poor child, indeed… the horror… both of them at once… But of course the White Shards of Darkness are always a trilogy – they don't come or go alone-"

"Really, Sybill," McGonagall snapped, glaring furiously at her co-worker. "Do you have to? Do you honestly, truly have to right now? The boy just lost both his parents! Can you hold yourself, have some restraint, for just once!"

Trelawney flushed in meek silence, blinking from side to side behind her magnified glasses.

"Our prayers go with the young lad," Slughorn sighed quietly, clasping his pudgy-fingered hands together and bowing his head, his walrus moustache, the size of which could have rivalled Uncle Vernon's, completely swallowing his lips from view.

"You all right, Potter?" asked Moody.

Harry did not reply. Instead he stood up and turned around when he heard feet pounding on the floor. He spotted Ron and Hermione running to them being chased by the Draco's levitating possessions. But when they noticed that Draco and his parents were nowhere to be seen they slowed down and half-heartedly approached Harry, who moved towards them.

"Potter, what about your classes?" said McGonagall softly, thinking she was being delicate.

"Minerva, I'm sure you can allow Harry here to skip a few minutes of class left and have a free afternoon to gather himself," said Slughorn, at whom Harry was extremely grateful, something he never thought he would feel for Slughorn. "I daresay it's thoroughly deserved."

Looking slightly bashfully, McGonagall straightened her tartan cloak again and frowned contemplatively at Harry before she shrugged, and Harry was on his way again.

Harry raised his arms in the same fashion of traffic officer. "He's gone. They're gone."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other as Draco's belongings hovered behind them. Harry strode past them, sighing and making vague hand gestures. "Gone, gone, gone… Gone."


	35. Cauldron Melting

**Chapter 35**

**Cauldron Melting**

It was a weird sort of afternoon to follow. Harry spent most of it traipsing the castle, while Ron and Hermione made regular appearances at his side but eventually sloughed off whenever the conversation grew too quiet because Harry was too preoccupied to talk about Horcruxes, the DA meeting tonight or Hogsmeade. Many students wandered the castle about just as he did and relaxed on stone benches and chatted casually. He also spent some time sitting under the tree next to the giant lake, staring at its restless surface.

Death was beginning to swell up and infringe on his mind like a lethal gas after what had happened earlier in the afternoon. It was two more deaths to add to the tally after Snape, Mr Ollivander and Dumbledore. The latter began to occupy more of his attention as the hours stretched onward into the uncertain future. He even studied the one letter of Dumbledore's that had survived, the one with the message to his friends telling them not to worry, because Harry would be back with them in no time, and on whose reverse was plastered an unbroken block of information in more of Dumbledore's writing – a tall, slanted and dark-green penmanship, the very one which had been his very first glimpse of the Wizarding world.

_Mr. H. Potter_

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

Before going off to wander about the castle, he had unearthed from the bottom of his trunk his abandoned collection of Chocolate Frogs and found one with Dumbledore beaming up at him, scratching his nose, or sidling out of view for a small while. He had wondered if there was a portrait of Dumbledore in his office, which was now McGonagall's. And indeed when he arrived at the gargoyle guarding the spiralling staircase he found the password changed: 'Lemon Drops' no longer worked – another constant dashed away.

Undiscouraged, Harry moved on to the next immediate thought: could Dumbledore be a ghost? The answer came with dispiriting speed: no – Dumbledore, and Harry thought he knew this more deeply than he could explain, would never have chosen to be stuck between the realms. He would have gone on. The words spoken to him at the end of his first year rang in his head: _To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure._ And Harry had an inkling Dumbledore's mind had been very organized, even if it might have been very full.

What would Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy do? He thought about them and Draco, about what he was doing right now and where in the world he was. It was unfair and heart-wrenching to think what Draco must be feeling and Harry was not there to soothe him as Draco had done for him after Dumbledore's death. And amidst all of his yearning to be with Draco there encroached one question upon his mind: was he responsible for the death of Draco's parents? Had he delayed them enough with his questions and threats to put them in mortal danger? Had his savagery in wanting to crush Lucius' pride ultimately killed them? Was Draco an orphan just as he was? And was he suffering because of him, the very person who desired nothing but to protect him from all the harmful forces that be?

This horrible and incorrigible thought pestered him until the sun finally waned and retreated behind the mighty mountains that cradled Hogwarts and he returned to the common room to find it full of chatter and bustle. Dean, Seamus, Neville and Ron were talking in the squashy armchairs facing the fireplace. When they saw him they stopped and their expressions became fixed.

"Hey, guys," Harry said as he plunked down next to Ron.

"Hey, Harry," said Seamus levelly. The Irish Gryffindor, though pale, always had soft, faintly rosy cheeks but now that and the softness in his face were absent, leaving it almost hard.

Though the immense tension that had overcome Dean in the morning was now largely gone, there still lacked that patented childish innocence of his. His cheeks did not appear full with naivety but in fact his whole face somehow seemed to darker, refined and mellowed to maturity. Neville mumbled a meek greeting as he hunched in his armchair, which consequently seemed to swallow him.

"Hermione's in the library looking up something or other," Ron told Harry in an amused and exasperated voice.

"Isn't she always, though?" Harry replied with a wry and perfunctory smile. Something in his relationship with Ron had shifted, and he thought he would feel the same way about Hermione when he saw her again.

There was silence around them caused by Harry's presence. It was not necessarily tense but it was not entirely weightless either, and it was slowly growing heavier as the seconds went by.

"Hey, Harry," said Parvati and Lavender after coming over to them from their corner. Harry returned the greeting. Lavender, who was sitting on the arm of Dean's chair while Parvati sat on that of Ron's, nodded with a pathetic smile. Parvati was quiet and looked worn out.

Although it was highly likely that they all had the same thing on their minds, there was disproportionately little conversation between them. That was before Lavender spoke, the sound of her voice removed from the soft bustle of the rest of the common room as though they were all in a bubble of their own.

"Parvati's parents are coming tomorrow to fetch her."

Parvati adjusted herself unnecessarily, looking at the floor and pouting. She turned to Harry with fierce determination in her face. "But I'm still coming with for tonight, you can count on that."

Harry looked into her bright blue eyes, noticed that they were almost the same shade as Dumbledore's. He nodded and looked away. He was impressed by her decision to come along even after learning that she would be taken out of school, and touched by her loyalty. At that moment everyone's eye was drawn to the window a few yards from the fireplace, out of which it was possible to see Hagrid's darkened cabin surrounded by cascading terraces of lush greenery.

"Is Malfoy gone?" asked Dean in the now decidedly strained silence.

"Yeah, with his parents," replied Harry, who suspected Ron and Hermione had filled in the rest of Gryffindor DA on what had happened after he had dismissed them.

"Poor bloke," murmured Seamus. "Both of them."

Harry said nothing. He looked up at the clock surmounting the mantelpiece: 18:21. It was a few minutes before he would summon the DA. That very thought made his heart thunder once painfully against his chest.

"Hiya, Harry!" yelled Colin Creevey as he bounded off the stairs, camera jiggling as he ran over to the couches. Harry eyed the camera warily.

"Hey, Colin," Harry said shortly.

Lavender shook her head and pushed Colin's camera away, conveying to him that now was not the time. Still grinning broadly and looking far from perturbed or tempered, Colin obligingly tucked away his camera behind him and stood in front of Harry, who was nevertheless not relieved in the slightest.

"Harry, I'm really sorry about Malfoy," Colin said with a hearty sincerity that almost did not suit him, and indeed when Harry looked up from the small boy's middle, Colin's bright blue eyes, which remained agleam with untameable zeal, almost wholly contradicted his words. "His parents, it was really bad. Those Slytherins are just vile monkeys, I tell you. There was a whole group of them attacking Malfoy's parents and us when started helping out. They gave a fight but we got them good. And McGonagall, phew! You couldn't tell she was as old as she looks, Harry, with moves like those! Talk about a woman who can work her wand!"

His excited, boyish tenor rang in the silence among them but Colin did not find this discouraging, for he rolled onwards, "I really hope they get full time for what they did! Honestly, what's Hogwarts coming to? I say we just get rid of the whole Slytherin lot once and for all. Otherwise they'll be the only ones left if they keep having their way. We can't treat them like civilized people because they aren't – they don't deserve it. Harry, I really hope you and Malfoy – can I call him your boyfriend? – I really hope you become happy, really, really happy with him. Nobody else deserves it more than you, mate!"

After patting Harry on the knee Colin leapt into his lap, shouted, "Smile!" – which Harry did not do – jumped off him and sped off to the second-years' male dormitory. However, no more than three seconds passed when there was a flash of red and Colin was back in Harry's face.

"Harry, Braden just told me-"

But at that moment there was a wild shriek that coming from wherever Colin had just gone and Hermione dropped into the common room with the a sigh and holding several tomes in her arms. "Evening, everyone," she greeted as she came over. When Colin came into view from behind Parvati, Hermione stopped in her tracks and searched around Colin with her eyes doubtlessly for his camera. Finding nothing and looking a little shocked, she then cautiously sat on the table as there were no empty seats, dropped her bag and placed her arms over the small tower of books on her lap.

"What did you find?" Ron asked her with the appearance of someone wishing to get the dreaded debriefing over with.

Hermione blushed at him before looking down quickly. She then looked back up with more pride, chin tilted upwards, and said, "Well, as I told you and Harry, I'd try to find something practical we can use." Narrowing her eyes, she continued, "And I remember asking you two for help as well-" But before she could make Ron and Harry nervous with her angry look, a student about as small as Colin flew down the stairs covering his face and screaming murder, did several laps from the portrait hole to the foot of the stairs, ran over to them – bumping Colin aside and nearly dislodging Parvati from the armrest – and stopped in front of Hermione.

"Hermione Granger? I heard it's your jinx. My face please!"

Looking shocked, Hermione stared at the boy and her hand was already drawing her wand out. After she managed to wrench the boy's hands away from his face, a knowing expression dawned on her face and her wand did not completely clear her pocket.

"Hm," she observed coolly, her lips pursed, while the student danced in agony in front of her. "And what's wrong with your face?"

"It's burning! Pustules all over it! Get them off! Please get them off!"

Hermione looked at the second-year who had shushed her severely along with the rest of the DA in their last meeting. "And why should I?" she asked. "Who did you sell us out to?"

"To Colin! To Colin! I was telling him about the Duel of the Year with Harry and Malfoy after he said he took a picture with him! Please get them off – I can't go anywhere like this! She can't see me like this!"

Hermione turned to Colin, who unabashedly nodded at Harry. "Yeah, Harry! I want to join the DA! What's it stand for, anyway?"

"You're not joining Dumbledore's Army, Colin!" Hermione asserted immediately. Harry was sure she was regretting her aversion to his camera because being bothered by its flashes was easier than trying to curtail his enthusiasm for death at worst.

"Army?" Colin breathed, his bright blue eyes gleaming with euphoric light. "It's an army? Oh that's why! I wanna sign up! Recruit me, Harry! I can fight! Tonight, even!"

Hermione gave an incredulous gasp and eyed the second-year DA member. Neither she nor Harry had expected Colin to know about tonight. Hermione looked even farther from healing the jinxed boy.

"I can't, Colin, it's too dangerous." Harry could not even imagine how the werewolves could dismantle Colin's small body. He would not be able to live with himself if it happened.

"Nonsense, Harry!" persisted Colin, jumping from foot to foot.

"Merlin, help yourself, mate," Ron said with disgust at Colin. "Harry, just tell him you'll pose nude in front of his camera if he doesn't join the DA."

Harry quickly looked away from Colin, blushing furiously. Meanwhile Hermione was dressing down the second-year DA member for telling Colin about the meeting tonight.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" growled the treacherous member. "But my face is still stinging!"

Hermione looked at him strictly for a few long moments before finally raising her wand and clearing his face. Braden stopped jittering and felt his face tentatively. Satisfied, he spun and smacked Colin in the head. "Thanks a lot, mate!" He walked off fuming but his assault had done little to dampen Colin's excitement.

"Come on, Harry! Moody shows us these great spells in our classes! They almost shouldn't be allowed! And I'm so small I'll just duck under their legs and give it to them where it hurts! They won't see what hit them!"

"Colin, you're not coming along! End of story!" Hermione shouted.

Colin did not spare her a glance but instead nodded at Harry, his shining eyes still dancing, waiting for Harry's assent.

"Colin, I can't let you come along, I told you," Harry said firmly.

"Well, why not?" lilted Colin quickly.

"Because," said Harry, Colin's excitement making him suddenly tired.

"Because what?" encouraged Colin.

"Because you're too young to come along!" supplied Hermione from behind.

"Braden's in second year just like me but why does he get to come along?" countered Colin as he whirled around to Hermione with annoyance in his face, his excitement now gone as though it were solely reserved for Harry.

A rosy colour blossomed on Hermione's cheeks. "Be—because," she spluttered and then went silent with a ponderous expression. Yes, why a second-year, Harry thought she was asking herself. Was their desperation to gather as many DA members as possible the reason they allowed even a twelve-year-old to join?

Making a triumphant noise after silencing Hermione, Colin whirled around back to Harry and his face split in a wide grin.

"Just shove off, Colin, will you? Blimey," sighed Ron and kicked his leg out, which Colin shimmered to the side and missed like some pest that did not want to die.

"So can I come, Harry?" asked Colin with his lilting tenor, unfazed.

Harry sighed tiredly, "Colin-"

"Why can't I come? Because I'm too young? Too small? You're barely any bigger than I am!" This, Harry thought, was a wild exaggeration as he was sure he had at least a head and a half over Colin. "Come on, Harry, I've always been teased about my shortness, and my parents are coming tomorrow to fetch me too – I won't see you again after today, see?" Ron shook his head and muttered something like, 'Just get on your knees already.' "I'm just asking to spend the rest of my time at Hogwarts with you guys, my second family. And you, Harry." He patted Harry once on the shoulder in another strange moment of solemnity that did not suit him.

Harry looked at him, totally arrested. It was a warm day and the common room was slightly cool. Colin was not wearing his school robe and shirt but a plain red golf shirt with short sleeves. It allowed Harry to see through the unbuttoned collar the thick, long, purple veins branching under the pale skin of his chest, and by the short sleeves, those along the crook of his elbows. That was how young he was, how fragile he was. How could he put this innocence, this fragility in danger? Yet he could not look into Colin's face and disappoint him after what he said, which was deeply affecting.

He looked behind him at Hermione, who wore a sympathetic expression as well, and then Ron, who remained unmoved after Colin's little speech, snorting for good measure. Harry looked at Colin again and sighed. "Okay, fine." Colin punched his fist in the air and hissed. "But, Colin, you have to promise me that you won't get smart and that you'll stay close to me at all times, all right?"

Colin snorted incredulously. Staying close to Harry was probably something he had wanted to do since coming to Hogwarts. "Of course, Harry! I'll bark if you want me to, even!" He saluted but could not keep a straight face long enough to give the gesture any measure of respectability, slapped Harry's knee again and tore off, his socked feet slapping the carpet and the stairs as he bounded up them.

Harry looked over the back of his armchair and saw Colin's back disappearing – his bum full and plump inside his grey school slacks, still smooth and covered with baby fat, giving it a full, rounded, youthful, bubbly look. So young. So fragile. And Harry was going to bring him along. He shook his head and sighed, dismissing the further warnings he had been about to give Colin before he flashed out of sight.

"Harry, you're actually going to let him come?" whispered Hermione, her eyes popping in disbelief.

"But you heard him, Hermione! Don't make me feel worse!" cried Harry. As he knew he would feel, Hermione looked different to him after what Draco said about her and Ron in his former room earlier that day.

"Won't be bad a thing if we lost him, though," joked Ron as he twirled his wand. "Hiya, Harry!" he squeaked in imitation. "Can I get you anything? A glass of water, dust off your seat, bark when you want me to, sit in your lap and gaze at you all-?"

"Ron!" admonished Hermione, whereupon Ron cowed and his twirling wand froze. Hermione seemed disarmed by his sudden reaction, blushed and turned away. She looked desperate to say something.

"So where did the Portkey take Malfoy and his parents?" Seamus enquired. "What's he going to do with them? Bury them, alone?"

Harry was reminded of another innocent boy, done upon by Voldemort only in another way. Ron and Hermione turned to him, looking equally curious. "I don't know," he said simply, shaking his head as he looked into the distance. He buried his head in his hands. "To one of their villas or something," he said through his hands. His uncharacteristic actions seemed to call the silence back.

"Villas," Seamus said a few moments later in an impressed, if flat voice, "plural."

Harry sat upright again and looked up at the clock again. 18:36. The minute hand had past the thirty-minute mark without his notice, without his consent. It had breached new territory, unpredictable territory. His heart started working fast and painfully, and its action vibrated down through every vein, quietly and slowly and gradually seeping to the bottom of them into his every bone. But it did not stop there, it continued to spread, and his heart could not stop beating.

Was this fear? Was he finally feeling it after being incapable of it, incapable of completely feeling it, but it was here? It cast aside all thoughts, and Harry stared through the common room window into the purple darkness. And to know that if he could walk up the stairs and enter the dormitory in which he slept daily – the one place where he should feel safest – he would find upon the floor the square patch of spilled moonlight – intrusive, his sleeping companion, and that which tonight could be his end… Betrayal. Violation. Fear… 18:37… Harry no longer lacked: he was afraid. And it hurt.

It happened again: an icy pulse that dissipated slowly and broadly across his veins. His eyes suddenly could not escape the face of the clock, captured and captivated. And in that moment he silence that had once been observed in respect of their dilemma turned into one of steadily mounting nervousness as the seconds ticked on. And no one opted to break it until it stretched for a full minute, assailed only feebly by the soft voices of the rest of the common room.

18:40

"'Scuse me," Harry murmured as he stood up and headed up the stairs, shortly followed by the other boys one by one. He entered the dormitory and his heart thrashed thunderously against his ribs when his eyes fell upon the moonlight hitting the floor and streaming through his window. He went over to his bed, watching with the whites of his eyes the other boys heading their own beds, those who already had sitting on the edges of their beds and looking quiet and sombre. He sighed, his mind starting to whirr with the passing seconds, his fingers starting to play with each other, his palms sweating.

He went to his trunk and took out _Useless Magic_. He glanced at his watch as he returned to his bed – 18:42 – barely noticing what his fellow dorm mates were up to themselves, what processes they had to go through to prepare themselves. But did not fail to notice Dean and Seamus sitting next to each other on the edge of Dean's bed holding hands, Dean's dark-skinned thumb rubbing circles on Seamus' smaller, fairer hand, gleaming in the shadows. This alerted Harry to the dimness of the room, at which point, as he thought of wherever Draco was, took out his wand, aimed it at the ceiling and delivered an incantation. The torches of the dormitory burst into life.

Harry licked his lips and stowed his wand away, sat back on his bed and rifled through the book, trying and failing to be casual about it: Section 6: Aid for Frivolities, Urgencies & Emergencies. Look-Me-Up Charm for words definitions. Letter Locker Charm for encrypting text… Harry breathed out slowly, tapping his foot… Point-Me Charm for checking cardinal direction. Tempus Charm, which Draco had used that morning to check the time… more time… 18:46. Harry flipped the book over to the contents page, breathing hard through his nostrils now.

Section 1: Body Maintenance and Modification

Section 2: Object Operations

Section 3: Ordinary and Special Effects

Section 4: Magic Manipulation

Section 5: Orders, Elementals & Forces

Section 6: Aid for Frivolities, Urgencies & Emergencies

Section 7: Oddballs & Miscellaneous

It was laughable that they were going to fight werewolves with anything in this useless book – ridiculously, foolishly, frighteningly laughable.

His eye caught Ron: the redhead was rifling through the small black sack he had procured from his twin brothers. It too seemed ridiculous, pathetic and laughable – weapons from a joke shop. Harry faced forward again and dropped Useless Magic on his bed. He put his hands to his face. Pathetic… under an illusion… grossly underestimated… naïve… pathetic… Tentatively, through the grill of his fingers, he glimpsed at the ticking green second dial on his watch – 18:49 – and his heart raged onward, beating a terrible tattoo in his ears. He could barely hear Dean speaking through the roaring rush of blood through them. His whole head seemed to throb. His shut his eyes tight but he could not turn away from what was happening in his own head.

"…You don't have to come, you can stay here. No one's going to call you a coward, they'll understand. Please, Neville, just stay."

"I forgot to write a letter to my grandmother and I had my Remembrall with me the whole day but I only remembered now. I forgot to write to her to tell her I was okay and that she mustn't come. She'll be worried… she'll be furious…"

Harry tried to control his breathing. He heard Ron moving around his bed, still going about his own business and preparing his contributions towards tonight. Meanwhile Harry's mind whirred onward: Draco, Dumbledore, werewolves, blood, survival, mauling, death…

All that they had prepared for was minutes away. Weeks of preparation, weeks of having this vague outline of it in his mind. With all of his experiences and preparations, they might not carry him through, he could not think it through, see through it. It stifled him: he could not plan ahead of tonight, or think about tomorrow or about Draco. Its thick blackness was swooping upon him, a sightless and shapeless creature whose strike was unstoppable and unthinkable.

Harry heard footsteps on the other side of the door before it swung open. Hermione hung in the doorframe and looked around them all before her eyes landed on Harry.

"Harry, we should be getting ready – ten minutes to go."

Harry nodded at her. After a lingering look at Ron, Hermione shut the door. Harry stood up, walked over the square moonlight and kneeled at his trunk, in which he deposited _Useless Magic. _He desperately searched for some artefact of solace, for one thing that could give him some semblance of hope: his Invisibility Cloak, which he pulled out, held up and whose perfection he studied, feeling its light, watery slither through his fingers, running weightlessly through them like moonlit water. He folded it as neatly as he could, put on his robe and stuffed the Cloak inside.

He checked for his wand, which was strapped against his stomach by his waistband. He turned to see Neville wiping his face clear of his tears and preparing himself. Dean, Seamus and Ron were already bustling about with nervous energy with their backs to each other, a sight that drove Harry's pulse up to several miles an hour.

He turned his back towards them as well and was just about to throw down the lid of his trunk shut when for the second time his eye was shaved by a flash of white. He caught the lid and bent over the trunk and moved his things around until he found a vial filled with a single, sparkling gossamer tendril, bending and dancing and twirling like a miniature tornado. His hand closed tightly around it and his lips pursed. He was thinking about Dumbledore again, and Draco's parents, and Draco. He tucked the vial back into its place and then found what had caught his eye just as it had that night seemingly a lifetime ago, right before he threw caution to the wind and went to save Draco from Voldemort.

He unburied it from the bottom of his trunk, pulled it out, and light finally fell upon the gleaming silver surface of the blade of Sirius' dagger, the intricate carvings along its serrated edges illuminating and seeming to glow in the soft light. Harry's hand tightened around the hilt, green eyes gazing down at the weapon that had not been of any use since he had received it. It had not helped him in Malfoy Manor, so how could it help him now, when he was facing a far huger danger? When it was proven purposeless, superfluous to him?

It, together with every other force they had convinced themselves were worthy for the occasion and had prepared for their offensive, seemed futile, tiny, fragile, almost irrelevant but positively laughable. How could a dagger protect him from a fully-grown werewolf, the size of which he was privy to as he had seen Lupin transform before? Why did he want to encumber himself with it? What true use could it hope to have?

Harry was just about to let the hilt slip out of his hand and disappear in the shadowy corners of his trunk when before his eyes shimmered the face of the person who gifted him the dagger in his summer when he was shunted quietly by the Dursleys: Sirius. It was a present from him, something chosen in affection for Harry – how could he dismiss it so? Dismiss something given to him by one of the few people who cared about him? A person who was of his parents' time? It was given to him for a reason, was it not? Could he seek to draw from it much-needed courage? Could his godfather's present provide him with comfort as he threw himself over fate's chasm?

Yes, he thought. He could. He might. He shall: he grasped the black hilt, pulled it out of the mouth of his trunk and stowed it within his robe carefully. It was not meant to be the kind of weapon Harry had thought it was. It was supposed to guide him, be with him as Sirius was not able to. He understood now. _Be with me, Sirius. I need you. I need to survive, to come back to Draco at ten o'clock. I have to survive, for him, for Colin, for everybody._

He closed the lid, stood up and gazed down at his watch – 18:53 – a skip of a heartbeat. He walked slowly towards the door as he watched the others. He straightened his glasses, ran his sweaty hands down the front of his shirt – at which point the fact of the impending chill outside occurred to him. He retrieved his sweater from Mrs Weasley with the big letter 'H' which he had not the courage to wear in front of Draco, lest Draco go to town. He pulled it on under his school robe and bent down to fasten his shoelaces, after which he headed for the door.

Ron turned out his sock and out sprung his Sneakoscope, which he quickly deposited into the black sack. He turned to Harry. They looked at each other in the eyes, green into blue into green. Different though their colours may be, they were tonight likened by the same token: fear. A quiet moment passed over them, Dean, Seamus, Neville, Harry and Ron. They all drew towards the door – paused for a heartbeat in front of it – and, after Harry opened it, shook out of their stupor and followed him out.

Harry descended the stairs, feeling every step beneath his feet, counting his heartbeats, aware with every inch of sight and feeling with which he had been blessed. His brilliant green eyes swept over the common room, over the students who worked, others who stood poker-straight near the portrait hole ready, and Hermione sitting on the arm of one of the squashy scarlet armchairs, her wand clutched in her hands. She looked up as they came down and stood up, coming over to the bottom of the stairs. Harry could not find it within himself to smile or nod at her – a smile seemed like a luxury at the moment, so he merely looked at her. The other students in the common room peered at them. Hermione took out her Enchanted Galleon and pressed a dial: a warm glow in his pocket and the common room rustled feverishly to life.

19:00

On the seventh floor they stood outside the Room of Requirement. Harry was staring idly at the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy and the Two Trolls, watching the trolls' unfunny attempts at ballerina dancing while waiting for the rest of the DA members from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff to arrive. There was a dispassionate chill to the air, accompanied by a slight breeze which ruffled their hair and rustled their cloaks as though trying to encourage their nerves.

Then, after about a minute of standing among in solely Gryffindor colours, Harry spied a few vague figures slinking into view from the other side of the corridor: the last of the DA members were arriving. They crept closer nervously, some of them shooting glances up at the single source of light that dimly bathed them, and still others clung to the safety with which their wands deluded them. Slowly but surely the small portion of the DA that had found enough strength within themselves to show up swelled, and the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs melded with the Gryffindors. No two members exchanged a smile or a warm look in the breezy chill.

Hermione's prediction had come true: it was a number of children as feeble as the light that shone upon them. Amassed entirely, barely thirty people stood in front of Harry, the majority of whom came from his House, and he felt a rush of pride and gratitude towards them. But it could not be said that it was not a hard blow for the DA to be castrated so mightily with such weak numbers. It made for a rather pathetic sight that was by no means an auspicious start to the night of all nights.

The students shivered in the chill quietly. Some began to whisper amongst each other, but to others conversation seemed a faraway luxury. Harry gazed around the crowd once more, meeting their eyes and prepared to address them. Ron and Hermione were standing on either sides of him.

He exhaled as he was about to address them, a force leaking out of him as he did so, ridding himself of his disappointment and contenting himself with what he had to work with, the breeze suddenly picking up, the world seeming to darken further under the pale moon. The silence was upon him and them and he was to break it now, a silence almost as heavy and palpable as the thought of death that had been with him for some hours now.

"All right-"

But that was as much as he could say before the darkness shimmered again and darkened almost unnaturally and seemed to fall into itself. The students in front of Harry looked around wildly and drew closer to each other, murmuring and mumbling fearfully. And when the darkness seemed to swallow them up, forth came a cackling noise from within the black smoke of oblivion.

"Ah, what's this I see, George?"

"I don't know, Fred. A student revolt perhaps forged?"

"But students revolting in broad nightlight?"

"Yes, George, I think my thought mightn't be too bright."

"I see you've finally embraced your shallow intelligence."

"Not yet, George, but your slights could do with a touch more elegance."

"Fred, George?" hollered Ron in disbelief, frowning into the clearing darkness, whereupon there was a sound like that of a television set switching off and the darkness swelled again and faded. And standing in front of Dumbledore's Army were Fred and George Weasley.

"Hello, little brother!" Fred cried merrily.

"And our esteemed ex-Housemates! How are you, how's it?" George said to the cheering crowd that was fighting to shake his hand. "Thank you, thank you. Been doing well myself as you can see…"

"George, don't show off now," Fred chided. "Please have yourself a modicum of modesty, will you?"

"But, Fred, when were we ever humble and modest?"

"True that, dear brother," Fred conceded after ponderous pause. "True that…" He casually scratched his ear and a silver ring blinked on his hand.

"Fred, George," Ron breathed, his eyes bouncing between his two twin brothers, a frown of shock and intrigue in his face. "What in Merlin's knickers are you doing at Hogwarts?"

Hermione appeared just as shocked as Ron, as was Harry, who could not believe the twins were standing right in front of them and still the same red-head jokers but now clad with what looked like dragon-hide jackets and boots.

"Well," said Fred, looking at Ron strictly. "After our owl came back twice empty-handed…"

"Our caution, we thought, needed to be a touch more heavy-handed," George finished.

"We already had a suspicion you wouldn't pay, you ungrateful whelp."

"But then after your impassioned letter, we thought we'd like to help."

"You haven't given us a reason for your request."

"As to why you need our Wheezes of the best."

"Infinitely fishy."

"Definitely dodgy."

"So do come clean right this moment, little brother."

"Or else be sure we'll run straight to our mother!"

The crowd of DA members roared in laughter and some even applauded.

"But how did you get here?" asked Hermione.

Fred and George turned their glares from Ron to Hermione and they became smug and boastful.

"And good evening to you too, the ever-lovely Hermione," Fred said.

"Our tolerated unyielding advocate of propriety," said George.

"And, well see, tell you that, we cannot do."

"But me thinks Harry here might have a clue."

Harry certainly did.

"Hey, oh holy Harrikins!" the twins sang.

"Hi, Fred. Hi, George," Harry said but went only that far with preamble. "Do you know what we're about to do?"

Bristling, Fred said in a tight voice, "Well, see, that's what we're here to find out. Our dear little Ronnikins here failed to mention what he – or I should say – all of you, are up to!"

"Didn't want to grow pustules and have the word 'SNEAK' written across my face like some second-year did," mumbled Ron mutinously.

George raised his eyebrow and turned to Hermione. "I see. Sounds like your kinda work. My, my, Hermione. The ever proper twitch doesn't disappoint. Does not disappoint indeed!"

"I try," Hermione fluttered ingenuously and with a false smile.

"Yes, Harry, you were about to tell us something," said Fred.

"As you know, there's a bash about to happen."

"Yes, we thought it might have something to do with that," said George, smirking mischievously. "Gate-crash the spectacles of spectacles! The bash of the Ministry itself! And by the little we saw it's going to be something of a night, so of course we brought further arms!" And with a dramatic flourish from within his robes he whipped out a small black sack about the size of Draco's breast pocket. It was rather the anti-climax but Harry knew the twins better than that.

"Er, come again?" said Hermione, frowning at the small sack and seeming to think her eyes were deceiving her and wished George to redo the trick from scratch.

"Again?" George asked in mock shock. "All right! You got it!" He stowed the small sack back into his robes and with another dramatic flourish whipped out the sack, which swelled rapidly in size in mid-air until it could rival that of Santa and nearly tipped George over with its momentum and took out his arm. "Tada!"

"But that's not fair!" cried Ron at once. "All you gave me was this!" He pulled out his own black sack and thrust it accusingly into George's face. Admittedly the size of his sack compared so starkly to that of George, it would seem quite unfair to anybody who did not know Ron. "And you come with that?"

"Now well, see, little brother," began Fred, "if you had signed the form properly like we asked you so nicely to, you would've then received the spell to expand your tiny-whittle-little sack!" He drew out his wand and tapped Ron's sack, which immediately ballooned to the size of a duffle bag.

"Whoa!" exclaimed Ron with the rest of the DA. His hand was already rifling through the sack, which bulged in the shape of the items being pushed aside, and his arm up to his elbow had disappeared into the sack.

"Next time please pay more courtesy to our delivery owl, if you will," George said kindly and formally as though he were a businessman, which must have been what he was precisely – he and his twin brother did own a business after all.

"But feisty little one, wasn't he?" said Fred with a wide grin.

"There'll be werewolves tearing down the revellers at the bash," Harry announced, dismissing this falsely cheery moment. "And we're going after them."

"Werewolves? What codswallop is this now, Harry?" asked Fred, amused.

"There'll be werewolves that will try and build up Voldemort's army tonight." Harry got the reaction he wanted: their flinches at Voldemort's name wiped the smiles off twins' faces. "And we're going to try and stop them."

"I beg your pardon?" said George, turning and angling his ear towards Harry as though he thought Harry would sound saner this way. Harry explained Voldemort's plan to the twins, after which Fred and George were not as boisterous and excited as before.

"Now, I was going to speak to the DA about it before we go," said Harry, and in the welcomed silence and calm after Fred and George's flamboyant entrance he began to speak. "Right, as I was saying, this is it, guys. We've done all the practice we could, and we have prepared hard. It all comes down to this. Remember not to panic and actually use the spells we learnt. Try your best to stay within groups."

These words could not have sounded feebler staring at less than thirty teenagers, including Fred and George.

"I think we should even have leaders – chief commanders to lead the charge. This is going to be our first and hopefully not last big test. I cannot promise you anything. I cannot tell you that we'll all make it back to school." His throat closed up at this point and his eyes flicked to Colin, buried in the mesh of members around him, but his big blue eyes were gleaming in excitement from their shadows.

"I cannot say that we'll not be attacked. I have taught you all I know. We have taught you everything we could – it's the best we can do. Let's-" He swallowed at the obstruction in his throat. "-Let us remember the man we named ourselves after. I know Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted me to do this, to lead you all into danger. But I also think he would be proud of us for coming to where we are. Let's make this Dumbledore's – for the best headmaster this school has ever had – I'm sure of it. Let's honour him by doing the best we can, by protecting the innocent."

His words were met neither with raucous cheers and fists punching into the air nor muted but fierce looks of determination. His charges were sombrely quiet, pathetic and entirely what Harry imagined. Fred and George, who had recovered themselves slightly, looked as though they could not believe what they had voluntarily walked into.

The seconds stretched on, the cold breeze an unwelcome companion, another addition to the merciless night. And the DA could do was look up at Harry. How he could relieve the disheartened silence, he did not know, but he opened his mouth to say something when…

"For Dumbledore," declared a voice Harry knew so well its decibels were etched in his mind and he thought he heard it before it had even reached his ears. He spun around so quickly he cricked his neck and saw, standing right in front of him, Draco.

A bone-freezing wave passed through his body, rippling his veins and taut nerves. He was staring into those eyes again, those grey, known, beloved, beautiful, rare eyes. Time fell out of existence, the surroundings shrunk into insignificance, sound came to no fruition in his ears for the space of a heartbeat… Silver-blond hair fluttering in the breeze, not gelled any longer let to hang majestically. A small smile upon those thin, shell-pink lips. A face, pale and pointed, glowing in the dark… Anger boiled up inside Harry.

"Draco."

Draco stalked nearer and stared into Harry's shocked green eyes. Clutched in one hand was his wand and in the other a thin blanket of some kind. It was a brilliant olive-silver colour and the moonlight shone upon its shimmering folds as it hung heavenly soft from Draco's hands.

Everyone was quiet.

Draco suddenly smirked. "Potter."

This second example of his voice drove all disbelief and shock from Harry, and his anger surged in their place. "What are you doing here?"

Draco's smirk fell off his face and the Slytherin looked chastised, something which Harry could not say pleased him.

"Wanted to be with you of course," he said quietly. He had not spared a single glance behind Harry at the DA. "Fight."

"You're not fighting," said Harry at once, his heart beating fast. "Go back where you came from."

Harry had not intended to say what he meant that way. Nevertheless Draco's eyes sharpened slightly with rejection. But the cold, defensive look was swiftly replaced by a business-like expression. "I brought a few friends of my own along too. Gents?"

Before everyone's eyes appeared Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle. Swaying in their hands, after they had clearly thrown them off them, were blankets similar in appearance to the one Draco was holding. The DA's collective jaws dropped. Blaise crossed his arms, while Crabbe and Goyle scratched themselves nervously and looked slavishly towards Draco.

"What is this?" demanded Harry.

"Re-enforcements, if you will," Draco answered with a kind smile.

"We don't need re-enforcements!" Harry growled.

"My eyes are shitting me, they gotta be," whispered Ron as he stared at Crabbe and Goyle.

Draco titled to one side to overtly look around Harry at the rest of the DA. "Um, I think you do," Draco said quietly, doubtlessly referring to the DA's pathetic numbers.

"Then what difference is four gonna make?" asked Harry stubbornly.

"You don't want the extra hand?" Draco said, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, I don't – we don't need you."

"Fine, they can go but I'm still coming."

"You're not coming, Draco!" hissed Harry. "Go back. We're fine without you."

"I wanna be with you."

"I don't want to be with you!" Harry shot back. How dare Draco just show up like this? Did he not understand the danger they were going to face? But did he, Harry, understand it himself…?

"Why not?"

"Because it's too bloody dangerous – that's why, you fuckin' prick! Turn back around! Go back!"

"Is this your Gryffindor genes kicking in again?"

Before Harry could lapse into another hissing fit, which was beginning to scare the DA, Hermione piped up cautiously, "Are those Invisibility Cloaks?"

"Yes," Draco answered promptly, almost desperately, as though not too keen himself to hear Harry hiss further. He raised the blanket in his hand to his eyes and studied it by the moonlight reflecting on it. "But they aren't as good as Harry's, of course. I think ours have a shelf life of twenty years or so. I hope you didn't think Harry was the only one with an Invisibility Cloak at Hogwarts. They're everywhere, a lot of people have them – a lot of the time they're brought down from the parents and grandparents. But again, they just aren't… true Invisibility Cloaks."

"Draco, go home," Harry ordered quietly.

"Maybe I—maybe—We could make copies of them, for every member," Hermione suggested delicately, looking at Harry from behind apologetically as her idea would necessitate Draco's presence.

Draco raised an eyebrow at Hermione. "It's an idea, Granger." He threw the Cloak to her. Hermione caught it, took out her wand and started working.

"Can I have, er, Zabini's and Crabbe's and Goyle's please? The less number of times I duplicate an object, the better."

Draco looked over his shoulder at his accomplices and jerked his head. The three Slytherins went over to her and handed in their Cloaks, all of which were subsequently replicated and handed down to a DA member. The Cloaks visibly put fresh heart into their _esprit de corps_, not to mention the comfortingly bulky figures of Crabbe and Goyle – something the werewolves might decide more satisfying in size than themselves.

Fred and George collected their own Cloaks, taking care to glare mildly at Crabbe and Goyle perfunctorily. They asked Ron and Hermione, "Can someone tell us why Malfoy's willing to risk his holier-than-thou neck for this side of the war and why Harry's speaking with him in Parseltongue?"

"They're boyfriend and boyfriend," supplied Ron colourlessly.

A moment's silence lapsed before Fred said, "Harry and Malfoy?"

"Yes," said Blaise, leaning against a wall, his arms casually folded across his chest, his eye drooped in a bored fashion. But funnily enough the way his body leant on the wall was like that of a stiff board. "For almost a month now. It went rather quick. Dashing in and out of his room, escorting him to his classes hand in hand. And not to mention snogging in the middle of the Quidditch pitch right in front of the entire school and entertaining Draco with his fire-breathing skills. Can't say Potter didn't go all out to nab him. And he sure did nab him – never thought I'd see the day holding hands with Potter."

Fred and George ogled at Blaise.

"And that was only a very polite summary, mind you," remarked Seamus, joining Fred and George's side with Dean after receiving their Cloaks. They greeted the twins, who vaguely obliged them and looked back at Harry, their eyes moving up and down his figure in a thoroughly reassessing once-over.

"Blimey," breathed Fred. "He never—I never thought of him—But Ginny, Cho, those flocking wicks-"

Dean suddenly became engrossed in a loose thread in his school robe that had sprouted from nowhere.

Ron snorted loudly. "Ginny," he spat. "As if. That's old _Prophet_-worthy tosh, that is. And Cho, one day they're taking strolls in the sunlight, the next, Cho's cursing him out to Merlin's moat. And that flock of girls' flocking to Malfoy now."

The twins, shocked beyond words, dreamily turned back to Harry and Draco and stared, their mouths hanging.

"My fellow brothers," said George finally, his voice airy with incredulity, "did Harry just fairy on us?"

"I think he did, Georgeous," Fred rued, his eyes bouncing from Harry to Draco. "I think he just did."

"D'you reckon Malfoy wets his bed?" asked George in feeble hope.

Ron snorted again. "Wish he did, then they wouldn't have to sleep together."

"Sleep together?" squawked Fred, and his Invisibility Cloak flipped out of his hands as he started.

"As I said, it was a _very_ polite summary," Seamus reminded the twins with a tremulous smirk of amusement, though his eyes had a quiet guardedness about them now. Meanwhile Dean had worried the new thread of his school robe so extensively that it had constricted them in the middle and now appeared to go with a belt.

"Hear no more I want, Fredilicious," declared George, sticking his fingers in his ears.

"Oi! I told you not to call me that!"

"You called me Georgeous. And last time I checked, you weren't my girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?" Ron said in a high voice as he turned back to his twin brothers. His face was way ahead of him and had turned scarlet, and he looked fixedly into Fred and George's faces as though fighting a temptation to look elsewhere.

"Well, little Ronnikins," Fred said, "if you start to splash and splurge like we're so humbly starting to, you're bound to grab a few insipid but no less welcome gold-diggers along the way."

"And being the gentlemen we are," George continued, "we surely cannot turn them down. So we turn them over, stiff it up and take care of business."

Thankfully Hermione had not heard George say these words as she was busy replicating the Slytherins' Invisibility Cloaks. When Colin came to fetch his she reluctantly handed him one, pursing her lips.

"Hiya, Fred and George!" Colin hooted as he waved at them.

"Hiya, psycho-Colins!" the twins greeted.

"My name's Colin, not Colins, and I'm not a psycho!" laughed Colin brightly as though being called psychotic was a laughing matter.

"Oh no, forgive Fred here," said George, "he meant psycho as in sycophantic – Harry's merry little lamb."

"He'll take it as a compliment," Ron harrumphed.

When Hermione had finishing creating enough Invisibility Cloaks for everyone, Harry had not stopped hissing heatedly at Draco. He was still gesticulating wildly in front of him, while Draco appeared recalcitrant and beseeching.

"I guess I should start teaching them some of the Charmery Protective and Disillusionment Charms now," Hermione said more to herself than anyone else. After casting a look of worry at the pair she began dictating the incantations to the DA. When Blaise casually mentioned he could teach them useful Dark spells, Hermione pretended she had not heard him.

"I'm all alone back there," whined Draco. "I can't bear it."

"But, Draco, you don't understand-"

"I think I can realize the danger as much as you. Besides, at the moment I'm not thinking about any legacy, about the line – I'm fifteen, for Merlin's sake, I'm still a bloody kid! Why should I have to worry about the survival of the family? Please, Harry. I'll stick with you the whole way. We can take risks now. We have no expiration date anymore. Weren't you angry about that? I thought you'd be happy-"

"How can I be happy when you've lost your parents? I don't wish that on anybody! Yeah I didn't like them but they were still your parents – I never would've wanted that for them or you."

Draco seemed stumped by Harry's response. He sighed impatiently. "I want to be with you, is all – that's all I'm asking. It's too quiet and lonely in that villa. The view's great but not as great as the sight of you."

Harry glared at the begging grey eyes, quite unfazed by the shallow compliment.

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

"You can't put me in this position. I just don't want to see you-"

"I know, you flippin' tosser," Draco ground out exasperatedly, even as his cheeks turned pink. "But I won't because I'll listen to you, I'll be with you – it's all I want. I don't want to be alone, not now, not after…"

Harry stared at Draco, his lungs relinquishing their readiness to argue further, his muscles relaxing from their strained forwardness during the confrontation. "I hear you but…" he said very softly to himself, finishing the sentence in his head.

Draco hugged him. "It'll be okay. Let's go after them." He pulled back. "Let's be stupidly brave Gryffindors." He pecked Harry on the lips.

Harry did not think he could argue further. He did not know what to do anymore. First Colin, now Draco. Nothing was going as he had planned, except that he dispiritedly knew he would be disappointed by the number of DA members that would show tonight. He turned towards them, saw Crabbe and Goyle looking as out of place as two Goths in a church as they hovered uncertainly and conspicuously in their own little space between a blasé-looking Blaise – as though going after werewolves was a regular pastime of his – and Weasley twins.

His eyes swept over all of them as they tried on their new Invisibility Cloaks and took them off with a flourish to their friends. They were smiling and chatting. This was not at all how he had expected it to go. He peered up at the moon – big, bright, foreboding, scarred by grey patches across its silvery surface, casting weak light upon the castle windows.

It was time.

"Shall we go then, guys?" asked Harry.

The showing off, the muttering and the smiles flickered, but Harry could perceive a different energy about them after the arrival of the twins.

19:26

Silence visited them all again and Harry, their leader, did not know what to say. He had given his pointless pep talk already, there was nothing else left to say.

"Let's give 'em all we got, fellow comrades!" shouted Fred suddenly, punching his fist in the air. He bent low to Seamus and whispered, "What are we called again?"

"The DA – Dumbledore's Army."

Fred redrew himself to his fullest height. "Tonight the DA shall prevail! Long live those who loved that funny old coot, long live!"

"LONG LIVE!" roared the DA with mounting spirit, thrusting their wands into the air, clutching their Invisibility Cloaks, laughing, grinning, eyes alight, inspired. And with this sudden energy they began to troop down to the third floor towards the one-eyed, hump-backed witch that concealed a passageway that would lead them into the cellar of the Honeydukes store in Hogsmeade.

"Nice speech," remarked Ron as they began to set off before going on to say with a pained wince, "But I don't even want to think of what Mum would do if she saw what we're doing."

"Quite, little brother. Quite," Fred agreed grimly.


	36. Hogsmeade: Where It Began & Where It End

**Chapter 36**

**Hogsmeade: Where It All Began & Where It All Shall End**

19:49

The Village Square of Hogsmeade was ebullient.

The guests standing in their selected circles were holding glasses filled with sparkling gold liquid in their hands, throwing their heads back as they laughed or simply smiled in satisfaction another successful joke. A grand scarlet carpet was laid on the ground and on top it rested several rows of mahogany pews dressed in silver drapes and crimson ribbons. At the front above the dais was an abnormally short pulpit perhaps designed so for the squat, portly man bouncing in between the celebrators, throwing cheerful greetings and wide grins at anyone he met along his way towards it.

"…Absolutely, absolutely, Amelia!" Minister Cornelius Fudge crowed, his lime-green bowler hat nearly toppling off his head in his excitement as he entertained the crowd. "It wouldn't do of course to have it any less grand if it's to suit Lucius' nicety! And speaking of the fine man, you haven't seen him yet, have you, my dear? But Merlin's beard, what am I asking? If he were here he'd have made an entrance – you know he has a tiny little infatuation with flair, he does."

And with a rather nervous chuckle the Minister bounced away from Amelia Bones and Pius Thicknesse, who, strangely, had a dreamy look to his eyes and was nodding interminably at Amelia Bones even though she did not at all appear to be making a point, much less an agreeable one.

Still with a jovial face, though the slight furrowing of his shining forehead betrayed his anxiety, the Minister continued to weave his way through the guests towards the pulpit. But then he was called by a high, fluttery simper and he wheeled around and, with a grimace that suggested he thought himself out of luck, set off for a woman and he two companions, dressed in a brilliant pink cardigan which matched her equally eye-watering tweed dress. The whole ensemble was so garish, in fact, that the Minister actually took a step back as though offended but quickly corrected himself and threw her his brightest smile yet.

"Dolores! And a good evening to you! Enjoying yourself, I see?"

"The occasion is ingenious, Minister," simpered the woman who wore a nametag on her pink cardigan that read Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, and who bared her small teeth at the Minister in what was intended to be a polite grin if it were not for the fact that gave her the appearance of a toad that was just about to flick its tongue out of his mouth to catch the fly that was almost perfectly represented by a bow on top of her Alice band. "I was just telling Rookwood here about what a terrible thing Dumbledore's death was. He was a likeable old man even though certain stances of his concerning certain political issues left much to be desired. That is why you were made Minister, Minister." She gave her small-teethed grin again which the Minister seemed to find neither endearing nor flattering whatsoever.

"Certainly, certainly, Dolores!" Fudge trilled. And with his trembling and contrived smile and spinning his bowler hat in his hand nervously, he faced the clock which hung on a nearby church in a very obvious manner, hastily peered down at his watch and said in a false tone of severe regret, "But, dear, look at the hand. I must be dashing just now – the ceremony is about to start and I haven't even had my first glass yet!" And Fudge swept off, looking quite relieved to have escaped his undersecretary. Bouncing along on his tiny feet, he resumed his journey towards the short pulpit awaiting his speech. But then he was intercepted by a tall, stylish man whom Fudge knew as one of Lucius Malfoy's friends and who entertained him for the better part of ten minutes until Fudge had to insist he get on his way. And wiping his brow with a look of relief and triumph, Fudge climbed the steps up the dais, stood behind the pulpit, placed his little hands on it and surveyed the twittering mass of people below him.

The Minister hitched a wide smile, adjusted his hat so that he it hung lopsidedly on his head and cleared his throat, at which point the partiers began finding their seats. Fudge peered up at the sky – it was a beautiful, starry night. There was a timid breeze in the air that nothing more than a thin overcoat could easily repel. From where he stood he had a great view of the jagged silhouette of the surrounding mountains, at the foot of which was sparsely scattered matchbox houses visible by tiny specks of light coming from them. A few villagers leant upon the walls of some of the houses, watching the occasion they perhaps had not the courage to join even though it was held particularly for them, the frightened.

The Minister suddenly drew his gaze downward to his legs to see his coat being pulled by a waiter-elf who was dressed in a crimson and silver suit – something the Minister clearly found both impressive and surprising. The waiter-elf gave him a huge grin and proffered a silver platter overflowing with rather strange-looking delicacies.

"Would the Honourable Minister like to try some Melting Moments?" squeaked the waiter-elf as the arm holding up the platter trembled slightly. "They are a most excellent hit with the guests!"

This was a blatant lie and the Minister seemed to think so. He frowned down at the platter, which was still quite full with a small mountain of crunchy, tubular, almost sickly-yellow cookie-like confections that were shaped rather like stool just given a drop of a colour-changing potion. They also looked as though they did anything else but melt in one's mouth, such as leaving their consumer with a few teeth less. So with a smile that made him seem to have acquired a tooth-ache just by looking at the confections, he said gently, "Oh no, my dear elf, as you can see-" The Minister affectionately patted his vast belly. "-I have already made quite a couple of rounds by the delicacies presented by your colleagues. Though I regret this now – I confess everything here looks simply mouth-watering!"

With a slight droop to one side of his broad, light-switch grin, the waiter-elf, who clearly had taken the Minister's words for what they truly were – a lie, trotted off the dais and proceeded down the aisle as he tried to tempt other, more agreeable palates, one of which certainly was not that of Umbridge, who glared at him and shifted away on her seat as though repulsed by him.

Sighing, the Minister cleared his throat once more and prepared to make his speech. The laughs and the muttering faded gradually until the Minister had in front of him a silent and very colourful mass of people gathered from all walks of life: the Ministry, businesses, other organizations, the nearby villages, and Hogsmeade itself of course.

20:00

"A good evening to you all! The night of nights has finally arrived!" Fudge waited for the applause and cheers to die down before he continued, "However, there is one soul that will not be joining us tonight and which I know would have thoroughly enjoyed every entertaining minute that is to follow shortly. As you may have read, Albus Dumbledore no longer resides on this beautiful earth of ours, and may our praises and wails of sorrow float above the skies towards Arkaemia. Merlin, bless his beloved and wizen soul. Dumbledore was nothing short of a remarkable human being…

"Now, moving on to lighter matters, as I do not wish to keep you on tenterhooks any longer…" Fudge then looked to his side and frowned at something in the distance before he turned back to the crowd and switched on his beaming smile again. "I have, after consultation with my wonderful advisor Mr Pius Thicknesse – there he is, there he is… Oh dear, reflexes are a little off. Too much of Ogden's you've had, have you, Pius? Can someone please… yes, take care of him… yes… that's—that's wonderful…" The Minister looked away from the waiter-elves that were snapping their fingers in Thicknesse's face to relieve his dazed look while others mopped off the drink that had spilled onto his suit but his eye was caught again by something to his right now. Fudge frowned again as he squinted at a dark crevice between the corners of two thatch-roof houses. And upon further scrutiny a pair of what appeared to be gleaming yellow marbles were fixed in mid-air and seemingly gazing back at the Minister, who looked away, shook his head and continued his speech.

"Anyway, Pius had most shrewdly suggested that I organize this spectacular event. It is, as you may know, held for the purpose of giving us the opportunity to relieve ourselves of our terrible fears and the bad news and the deaths and all those many horrible things that have become the norm as of late."

Before he had finished speaking Fudge looked away from the crowd for the third time to his the right and there in the distance, shrouded by the evening darkness between two houses was another pair of yellow marbles. Looking extremely irritated and confused all at once, Fudge clucked his tongue lowly and blinked as though he thought he was hallucinating. "The Minister of Magic," he went on in a soft growl, "recognizes your woes and troubles, I do." Hovering yellow marbles quite forgotten, the Minister looked all around the guests with a convincingly sombre and sincere look and held his hand to his chest. "And that is why I have done what is necessary to ensure that the people are assured that all will be bright once more, that these are only passing tides – nothing more than small ripples that will shortly depart and leave us in peace once more…"

And in peace once more was exactly what the Minister wished for himself, for with a look of exasperated confusion he started noticing a few more other pairs of golden, gazing marbles, rather like yellow eyes. They were now popping up in other obscure places: between houses, atop roofs or beside the trees. Some of the guests seemed to wonder what the Minister was frowning at and started looking around as well before their attention was drawn to the Minister again when he resumed speaking.

"So I beseech each and every one of you to enjoy yourself to the maximum extent possible. Of course all within the law now – we don't want to have Level Two coming in on such a splendid occasion, now do we? So please do retain a modicum of civility. Remember, this night is for you all, the people. The mead and the Firewhiskey will flow non-stop, the food will pile endlessly, and the music and entertainment will never fade! Without further natter and ado, ladies and gentlemen, let the Bracing Bash begin! Weird Sisters, take it away!"

With a ringing, if desperate pleasure in his voice, the Minister bounced off the pulpit. He cast wary looks in every direction at the numerous nooks and crannies where the yellow eye-like marbles were hovering.

With an eruption of roars and cheers of excitement, the guests began going about the business of having a good time. Some remained seated on the pews and chatted even as some elves began pushing the pews out of the way to make room for the dance floor. The food replenished itself across the three tables on the edge of the floor and festoons blossomed across their lengths. And a huge swarm of fireflies bloomed from thin air above the floor offering glowing, dancing light to the party, something which particularly seemed to pacify the Minister, who began to chat amicably with a circle of guests standing beside one of the food tables.

Music from the band started filling the area and threw the fireflies into a wild frenzy as they began zooming agitatedly across the dance floor and consequently gave off brighter and more erratic light. But the light was not powerful enough to allow the Minister to stop noticing the pairs of marbles he kept seeing around the structures that surrounded the bash when he had been making his speech. Laugh in all the right places with his companions though he did, there was still a wariness about his general demeanour. It seemed Fudge had decided to keep his hallucination to himself because his companions seemed not the least bit discomfited or curious about his state of mind. Perhaps he still hoped that it was just his mind playing tricks on him.

It was such a beautiful night with wonderful music blaring across the floor and company to entertaining himself with, thought the Minister. It was uncalled for to worry at this point. The Minister excused himself to make a dash for another table which had a platter of delicacies his taste buds were screaming to try. He thrust his pudgy little hand into the platter, hauled out a handful of crumbling blocks of caramel fudge, bit into one almost decadently and sighed in satisfaction as he looked up dreamily into the velvety sky at the silver orb above them that was the new moon. Visibly relishing the fudge in his mouth, Cornelius Fudge studied this light-giving celestial body, which was reflected in his old, narrowed eyes. Sighing again in blissful ecstasy, he wheeled around, removed his eyes from the moon and returned them to the earth just a swiping claw came to his face, and the Minister dropped to the floor, dead.

"AWHOOOOOOO...!"

There was a single shrill scream of bloodcurdling horror and the shattering of glass as someone spotted the bleeding Minister on the floor and above whose body stood a horrible sight: a massive creature of fur and claws and teeth, towering above the floor and partially melding into the darkness. But the air was still dark and calm – nothing, it seemed, could take the beauty away from the night.

Murmurs and gasps of shock erupted from every corner of the Village Square as the party began to realize what had happened and what as standing in front of them, and that the night was beginning to rouse and stir…

Shadows fell to the ground in jagged and yet fluid metamorphism. Figures oozed out of darkened corners and rooftops and tumbled to the earth in random, heavy thuds. The graceful rise and fall of their prowling scapulae belied their heinous intentions. The tick, tapping sounds of nails on wood came from every direction – the sound of a timed fate set in the auspicious, serene velvet of the cool night. A timed fate set by a perfidious nature in the given moon, a natural treachery.

The enormous canine figures were teeming from every small space that the darkness hid. They fell from the sky and rose seemingly from the ground as well. And all those golden marbles the Minister kept spotting come forward, dragging into the light their origins – the massive bodies of snarling monsters.

Then, a lone, tall, dark figure could be seen approaching, walking steadily upon the ground like a midnight-stalking nomad. A pale, flat face was barely visible in the shadow of his hood. If one could see it, one would see a mild expression devoid of humanity but so abundant in astute, calculating evil. It was an expression worthy to be captured in still testimony – red slits without eyes, without a soul, and a flat, glowing face supporting lifeless features that could not articulate mercy nor feign to suggest that the mind behind it knew its meaning. Swift and light on his strides, the figure drew nearer, his dark robes snaking around him in a sinuous, graceful flutter.

"Bite – don't kill. Proceed," came the cold, high-pitched command. The werewolves let loose.

Screams everywhere, hair-raising, blood-curdling screams of panic, fear and desperation… Noises of crushed bones and slashed flesh. The werewolves ran and mounted on their victims, rearranged their features in one swipe and leapt off for another. They did not kill, but they sunk their teeth, buried their claws – but they did not kill. The scramble quickly escalated into a full-blown stampede as people ran pell-mell for their lives anywhere, everywhere. But the werewolves were faster and catch them they did eventually. But then…

"_Lumosfundereducto!_"

A gruff mewl of pain followed a bright blast of light, and the werewolf was thrown off an aristocratic debutante. The creatures froze and their sharp golden eyes searched the surroundings fruitlessly for the origin of the light. Bolts of brilliant spells rained from nowhere and blasted the werewolves off their feet with inexplicable power.

Voldemort stood in the middle of the road watching quietly.

They were spells like no other and with mixed colours never seen before. They sent the monsters flying backwards, skidding across the dusty road. And the casters were nowhere to be seen. When another werewolf landed with a furious snarl at Voldemort's feet, sporting a bleeding wound and seared fur, Voldemort's hood shook with unadulterated fury. He threw his head back and launched a shriek so terrible it sounded mortal, and so powerful that it shook the leaves, cut through the screams of the stampede and stirred a fierce wind that flung the black figures surely responsible for the kaleidoscopic spells out of concealment.

Dumbledore's Army froze where they stood, shocked that they were bare, their Invisibly Cloaks flying into the wind. But they had no time to do their shock justice when Voldemort caught sight of Harry and released another furious shriek that swept everyone off their feet.

"POTTER!"

Amidst the several thudding noises of werewolves landing into various surfaces, Harry scrambled up to his feet, grabbed Draco by the scruff of his neck and flung him forward.

"RUN!" he roared at the DA. And the other students too leapt to their feet and ran for their lives.

"STOP THEM, STOP THEM! KILL POTTER! DO NOT TOUCH THE OTHERS! KILL!"

For a single, most frightening moment, all other sound seemed to tune out and left just the rumble of countless feet pummelling the ground to escape the nightmare behind them, where they could hear growls and the fleeting patter of paw upon earth as the werewolves bound for them.

Voldemort took flight and rose off the ground. He diminished in form and turned weightless and ghostly, and by the time the transformation was complete he was nothing more than vapour. He sailed through the air as though one with it, a small breeze swimming fluidly through and with the air, a smoking cloud with a wispy tail fluttering behind it and two blazing crimson slits.

Draco was sprinting beside Harry, who was flanked by a lagging Colin Creevey whom he had by the wrist. Ron and Hermione were in front of them, her and Ginny's bushy manes flapping in the chilly night as they flew into the wind. The rest of the DA hurtled down the road alongside them as they had never ran before. There was no voice to break the stomp of their feet upon the unpaved road. It was only that and the whistle of the gentle breeze whose cold sting stiffened their muscles but their adrenaline mercifully counteracted it, for they could still hear the wolves coming for them as clearly as they could their own thundering heartbeats.

As Voldemort's furious shriek faded out of their ringing ears there returned that eerie, exceptionally fearsome moment of suspension in which the near silence luxuriated as though every other sound had not the daring to trivialize their peril but wished they experience it in its totality. Even the screams sounded to have fallen, leaving only the sound of a deranged stampede as all attempted to spare their own lives, and the panting, and the flapping of their robes on the wind. Harry was transported, could almost not see what he was running into, and all he knew was to keep running, keep hold of Colin, keep sight of Draco.

A growl here and a snarl there.

A flash of fur and a glint of teeth.

The werewolves were upon them.

Their Invisibility Cloaks were gone with the wind, their Disillusionment Charms rendered useless from the start as the werewolves could see them as plainly as the moonlight.

Harry found himself in an abyss of fear as he had never been before. Standing before Voldemort and his mortal wand in Malfoy Manor seemed a trifling moment. He barely blinked as the wind whipped his eyes dry while they streaked for the mountains, robes billowing in their wake.

With the corner of his eye Harry saw a massive werewolf on the heels of a flagging, rolling Goyle. The werewolf gained the last few inches, sprung on a nearby wall of a house, rebounded off it and took Goyle down. And there followed a scream that pierced Harry's stomach, trickled into his veins, to his heart and spurred that muscle to life, and roar to life did his heart, straining his muscles as he took off with a spurt of speed that almost lifted Colin off his feet. Adrenaline gushed into his blood as fear took hold of him, throwing him into a blurring landscape of whipping trees and houses. There was another scream, this time much shriller and that which Harry could vaguely match with the excited lilt of a famous gossipmonger.

"Parvy!" moaned Lavender Brown hoarsely as she cried into the night, her breasts flying off her bosom as she ran, her tears whipped out of her eyes into the damning chill and sparkling in the moonlight at the fringes of Harry's vision, another part of which caught sight of a dark, wide side passage into which Harry immediately veered.

"IN HERE!" Harry boomed. But the turn was too sharp for some and they tripped to their feet and to their awaiting deaths as the werewolves swiftly leapt upon them opportunistically. And there followed harrowing crunching sounds and screams that bleached Harry of colour in his face but did not do away with the guilt which washed him.

Ron and Blaise Zabini were the fastest of them all, their long legs carrying them forward. White-blond hair rippling in the rushing wind, Draco panted hard in Harry's left ear, while Colin, white-faced, pummelled the ground at top speed quite silently, uttering not a single sound of protest or exhaustion, quietly surviving.

The growls faded, the crunching and lapping sounds died, and again that round of eerie stillness returned, broken only by their panicked breaths that were swiftly stolen by the wind into which they charged.

"RUN, YOU FUCKIN' FAGGOT!" roared Dean in a raw voice at Seamus, who was behind him and whose arms were flapping wildly like wind mills, his freckles standing out against the frozen pallor of his fixed face, which was resplendent in plain fear.

"AWHOOOOOOO…!"

Then a loud, rasping voice broke the air: "Gettem, boys! I'm coming, my little prince!"

Harry took Draco by his blurring arm, skidded around a corner and sprinted into another dark fissure, shooting into the endless darkness with Draco and Colin as they broke off from the rest.

"Let's split! He wants me!" Draco shouted in a discernibly half-hearted tone.

"No way!" yelled Harry requisitely. And again that almost supernatural thrust went into his bones and sent him flying with unaccountable speed, hindered only by Colin, who was now beginning to pant tiredly and whose face was pale pink.

A shadow flashed as a werewolf leapt from one roof to another above them, obscuring for a split second the blazing moon, which, now, seemed not so feeble and weak, or pale and downtrodden by its scars of grey patches. It was enormous, chiding, watchful and dispassionate.

House after house streaked past them as they rushed through the maze of dwellings, dust and sticks flying behind them. Then they came into a wide street in which they were quite in plain sight, and this scared Harry beyond measure.

"Where do we-" began Draco. But then the plain, unobstructed sight of two werewolves dropping off the roof onto the clear road with a disturbingly heavy thud sent Harry flying in the opposite direction for dear life, grabbing Draco by his collar and Colin still by his wrist. And the stars streamed into a single line of white and the houses melded into a single blur of brown as the tapping, clicking noises of claws upon the ground drew nearer towards them.

A snarl in his ear.

A growl in the other.

There was a snap of a breaking twig and Harry felt Colin's wrist slip out of his hand. A scuffling sound, a thumping noise, a breathy, "Harry…" a crunching noise, and Colin Creevey was no more.

"Colin," gasped Harry, tears stinging in his abused green eyes. He glanced behind him briefly and saw blood pooling under a tiny body which was twisted grotesquely and upon whom a werewolf feasted.

Harry and Draco heard the other werewolves steadily catch up. Then Harry saw a flash of teeth the colour of which nearly matched Draco's hair, and he thought it must be over, that Draco's neck would surely break. But then suddenly the DA barrelled into their street. Fred and George threw something at the werewolf before there was a soft explosion of dark powder at which Harry closed his eyes as he held onto Draco tightly and blindly – he would never let go of him.

"Harry!" Ron and Hermione called.

"Yeah!" yelled Harry back to tell them to convey that he was still all right. For any longer a speech there was no room.

"Where's Colin?"

Harry did not answer. Together they tore down the dirt road, the moon behind them, its monster unleashed upon them, the mountains in front of them, forbidding yet a seeming safe haven.

"AWHOOOOOOO! RUN, LITTLE KIDDIES, RUN!"

"Fenrir Greyback," Draco breathed but it seemed his words were meant for no one in particular, which was just as well since no one appeared to be in any condition to listen to anything, only keep moving.

The DA weaved through the village of Hogsmeade, and upon the roofs leapt the werewolves, tails flapping in the air – their enormous bodies weightless upon it, well acquainted with it, home upon it.

A soft growl here.

A snatch of a snarl here.

"_Confringofunderexpulso!_" shrieked Hermione as she waved her wand wildly behind her without looking. Harry had to duck low as the brilliant spells zoomed past his head and heard it strike a werewolf behind them, and a satisfying, dying mewl of pain followed.

There was another growl, of frustration this time, before a booming, rasping voice rented the air: "ENOUGH! TAKE YOUR POSITIONS, BOYS!"

"FUCK!" cried George at once, as though he knew what the booming voice meant. He was panting hard, his arms were working furiously and sheer panic almost lifted his feet cleanly off the earth in his flight as well, while Fred threw every joke weapon they had in store at the rooftops, behind them and wherever there was a sound of their lupine pursuers.

There was no other choice. They could not remain together.

"GUYS, LET'S SPLIT!" Harry commanded.

Instead of the protesting cries that Harry thought he would receive, the DA broke asunder in all directions readily, perhaps each member driven by mere instinct, a selfish, fundamental instinct for self-preservation. At that moment Harry thought little distinguished them from Slytherins; there was little that distinguished a human being from another in such times where one's very own life was on the line, to know that the only thing that spared one for now was one's own legs, one's own capacity to outrun fate, that there was no external entity to overlook, protected and guarantee one wholeness, offer them at the least the illusion of structural safety.

Harry and Draco split up again and swerved into another narrow passage shrouded completely in shadows.

"Draco!" said Harry.

"Harry!" said Draco.

They did not speak further as Harry had only wanted reassurance that Draco was still with him, still in this, still fighting, still running beside him. His prompt and healthy response was enough.

The sound of the other students' footsteps faded away as their own filled their ears. Harry tried to fend off a claustrophobic sense of isolation as they hurtled down the passageway. Suddenly at the far end it he caught a white wisp and two slits came into being in front of them in their path. Harry swerved into another passageway with Draco's arm. Meanwhile a flash of fur streaked past in the corner of his eye.

"You may run for all eternity, Potter, but I will catch you!" hissed the ghostly, wispy mass which had turned into their passageway. The formless head sailed through the air effortlessly, as though it were part of the wind itself.

Harry and Draco turned into another corner, and then another, until they were doing this randomly without a moment's thought and until Harry could convince himself that they had lost Voldemort. He was awash in terror and incredulity. Voldemort had grown stronger than ever to turn into spirit and catch the wind… If the night could let him deal with just one enemy at a time at least, he could fathom to oppose it, but that was not to be. He and Draco barrelled into an abandoned house whose lights were still on, flew through the kitchen and burst out of its door on the other side, barely registering the family that had cowered under the table and clutched their children.

Harry and Draco ran and ran. Crates dug into their shins as they flew through them, boards broke, old piles of planks scattered everywhere, and everything disappeared and was decimated behind them by the black, heavy, rolling mist of death behind them outfitted in fur, teeth and muscle. He and Draco were alone – the DA was somewhere in their own little world, fighting their own fates. But Draco was beside him, he was running and panting and panting with his beautiful pale face whitened beyond the suggestion of life beneath the pretty features, white-blond hair flying behind him, black robes billowing.

And still the werewolves ate the ground beneath them until another pile of planks exploded very near the pair, and Harry knew that the werewolves were inches away. His spine had never felt so fragile – he had never felt so vulnerable. Emotionally vulnerable because he had an extension of himself, something about which he cared more than he did for himself. It was a solid burden – Draco was a burden to him at that moment. He loved him, but this figure consumed so much of his life. He could outstrip Draco and leave him behind, but he could not even if he wanted to.

There suddenly came a moment of quiet, a fleeting period when all other sounds checked out, leaving only those in their little bubble of existence. This time Harry knew that the deafening silence was not of that eerie, frightened quiet but that which followed whenever the werewolf's claws left the earth, and the werewolf was suspended in mid-air, leaping upon its victim, and Harry could almost feel the canines sinking into his vulnerable neck, could almost feel the claws that he saw outstretched at Draco's back digging into his spine and crushing it into a million pieces, and he knew it was over – the werewolf's shadow had completely bathed Draco, and the werewolf – far more massive than any other of his pack – was inevitably to fall back to the earth upon Draco, and his love would be no more… no more…

But then something simmered in the deepest parts of Harry's gut… His legs lost speed, his arms caught air, and the green ring of his eyes pulsated once… And his arms were turning, his legs were twisting around, his body was facing the werewolves, he was stumbling, tripping backwards… His hand dragged Draco down, his glasses flew of his face, his neck and throat bulged. Something was rising within him. His green eyes pulsated again, his throat rippled, he opened his mouth, there was a sucking, whistling noise – fire erupted from his lips and the sky blazed alight.

But it was not a fire of crimson and gold or in serpentine form. It was a fire of emerald that soared into the air, a dragon in full flight. Its tail, the length of a Quidditch goalpost, lashed at the werewolves and wrenched from them howls of pain and fear. Fenrir Greyback, who had been about to pounce on Draco, was flung into the wall of a house as the other werewolves skidded to a halt and gazed up into the sky, their yellow teeth illuminated by the green dragon soaring into the moon. Draco looked from the emerald dragon to Harry, disbelief etched in his face. But Harry watched the other werewolves resume their pursuit of them, now safe from the fiery dragon soaring towards the heavens and fading as it went. Harry viciously grabbed Draco under the armpit and hauled him to his feet with a strength they both knew he did not possess. Harry roared, "RUN, DRACO!" And within his voice was only pure, animalistic desperation. Draco's legs started working again and Harry starting running right beside blindly into the dark passageway.

"_Accio glasses!_" Draco shouted behind him. But his voice was swiftly followed by the sound of crushed glass as the werewolves pursued them. Draco looked at Harry, who, however, was quite in his own space of mind again, transported onto a whole new plane. Just before they emerged out of the passageway Harry came to a complete stop, turned around again, his feet locked into the dirt as though he was about to launch a missile from his shoulder, his throat bulged, there was a sucking, whistling noise and once more he breathed forward into life a burning emerald dragon.

The night sky lit up and a wind swept the ground and sent dust and shattered window panes down the passage. Mewls of agony rented the air as the thatch roofs and doors vibrated in the presence of pure, raw magic. Harry opened his mouth again – a sucking, whistling noise, and a third green dragon towered over the village and soared into the air, and the werewolves howled and mewled in excruciation still.

"Harry," Draco breathed. His hand rose to touch his face, a tremulous smile hesitant to touch his lips as he stared in awe at Harry, who, however, had no desire to speak further beyond a previous command.

"RUN!"

And they were off again. The moonlight returned as they landed into another wide road that could easily reveal any DA member – it did not – or a werewolf. Harry took a left. Draco seemed breathless for more than one reason. They ran towards the unassailable figure of the mountain before them, towards the point where the houses grew less frequent and where the fringes of the forest began. They had no choice.

They ran. Draco cast a brief look behind him, something which Harry had no desire to do – it was much simpler to keep living under a naive illusion. But this illusion shook as he heard those frightening noises again.

A clip of a growl here.

A snatch of a snarl there.

A flash of fur here.

A glint of teeth there.

"LEAVE THE REST – GO FOR POTTER AND LUCIUS' CUB!"

Draco released a gasp of panic at that loud, rasping voice, which now, had a breathy note to it which suggested that its owner may be injured, something which Harry welcomed with feeble relief. Then they heard the distant voices of the stragglers and partygoers and the DA.

"_Lumoscombinilumos!_" A Combined spell was shouted and followed by a brilliant explosion of light several yards from him and Draco and where they immediately headed. Harry attempted to take another corner but changed, thinking it would slow them down too much despite his screaming instincts to cling to dark passages out of the way of wide, open roads which put them in plain view.

"_Reducto!_" Harry blindly shouted behind him, hoping beyond reason that his spell would somehow find its target, which it expectedly did not, and the tapping and thudding noises of running werewolves persisted. He was overcome by the need to know how close they were and glanced over his shoulder: with a thundering heart he spotted four, fully grown werewolves tearing towards them, some of them limping, and two others leaping on rooftops above them. Something had to give – they could not go on like this for much longer.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" growled Draco, tears gleaming in his eyes.

Harry found they had no other choice but to head into another passageway. So he bumped into Draco, who caught on and took the next dark crevice. As house after house flew behind them they caught glimpses of some DA members. They were closer than Harry had anticipated. Then he spotted Neville urging on the fat girl he had practiced with in the DA lessons. She was slowing the pair down rather badly. Harry and Draco took the next immediate passageway after them, ran past the houses until they found them in their aisle.

Neville was swallowed by the hefty bulk of the girl, and behind them a werewolf barrelled for them, light upon the wind. The girl was flapping her huge, chunky arms as she attempted to escape on her bleeding leg that had stained her ripped jeans. But Neville was visited by no such desire to escape, though fear he evidently felt because the wand in his hand was trembling horribly. He froze in the middle of the passageway, his eyes bulging at those golden marbles hovering, coming for him like an unstoppable, invisible breeze. The werewolf was quickly upon him, it had leapt, suspended in the air, claws and teeth forward, and Neville merely stood there…

_BOOMPH!_

The wand in Neville's hand seemed to have acted on its own accord, which was impossible. There was small explosion and the next thing Harry saw was the enormous werewolf flying backwards in a cloud of red smoke as its drawn-out howl pierced the air.

"Neville!" shouted Harry with a trace of pride in his voice and resumed running before Neville could catch a glimpse of him and Draco or respond to his name – he thought he had seen the tail of flying vapour again – weightless smoke upon the weightless air. "Come on, Draco!"

They dashed for the large collective canopy of trees ahead. The houses grew more and more apart, so the werewolves which had flown upon the roofs were tumbling back towards the earth, and they now ran level to them, snouts twisted in malevolent snarls, bared, yellow teeth revealed, their tails swishing behind them in the air. There were suddenly three on this side and four on the other. Harry barely spotted any DA member now. And when Harry was just about to swallow his apprehension to enter the forest, something white flashed into view from above. It shot over their heads and floated between them and the forest: Voldemort. Mere smoke and air. The werewolves stopped and gathered around them and formed a circle around Harry and Draco.

Voldemort laughed – a high, cold, shrill noise with which the werewolves chorused in their gruff, harsh growls, growing raspy and louder, and the raspy voice was closer and louder to Harry. His green eyes flew from north to south only to realize that there was no escape, that there was no blemish in the tight canine circle, which prowled back and forth, scapulae rising and falling fluidly, teeth glinting in the night. Fenrir Greyback, who looked anything but breathless or injured, approached them him and Draco, walking on his hind legs, his golden eyes on Draco.

"My Lord," he growled, "you've denied Macnair this pleasure. But I beg for your mercy. You've promised me this sweet thing, and I have yet to receive it."

"Now, now, Fenrir," chided Voldemort softly in that high, clear voice. "You know I had to play with and wear the toy out before I could pass it down. I do seem to remember that promise but certain developments had stolen my attention, one being Lucius Malfoy's treachery. But I'm glad to say he has paid the ultimate price for it."

Greyback turned sharply from Draco to Voldemort, the skin above his eyes stretching upwards in what was surely the raising of an eyebrow if Greyback had been human. "Lucius is dead?"

"Naturally," said Voldemort, staring at Harry and Draco as he hovered above them. "It was done by a student at Hogwarts. He will be rewarded fabulously, of course."

"But, My Lord, what about my own reward?" asked Greyback, looking back at Draco. His long pink tongue swiped across his snout in an obscene manner. "Delicious, delicious… His scent's driving me mad, from the sweat between his legs, in that pretty arsehole of his, to his armpits, and that fresh smell on the tip of his manhood… You're mine, little Draco… Years and years watching that cute little arse of yours bouncing all around the mansion. I knew there was a day that I was sated… My Lord, I beg you."

Voldemort sighed, sounding exasperated. "I had wished to wrap this up an aeon ago. So please, do be quick." After hissing something the air shimmered momentarily and Voldemort ascended the sky, his ghostly head trailed by the blurry, wispy tendrils. He looked like a shooting star rising in slow motion, the wind making his smoke-life form ripple like a windsock.

Greyback's lustful growl brought Harry's attention back to earth. He saw Greyback's claws contract as though he could not wait to get them on Draco. And something pink was growing steadily between his black legs. Revolted, Harry realized what it was and shimmed in front of Draco so he stood between him and Greyback. He could feel Draco trembling as the other boy held him by the waist.

"Oh, Potter, playing the brave one as always, I see," Greyback snarled. "Potter protecting the prince!" Dust rose behind him. "Let's see-" And he charged. "-just how-" And he was near and nearer. "-brave-"

"_Stupefy!_"

As though he were not four thousand pounds of werewolf, Greyback came to a sudden halt and moved agilely to his side, flashing his teeth in a jeering grin at Harry.

"No, no, you don't, little hero." And he charged again. Harry and Draco shuffled around in panic, trying to run away and nearing the circle but the other werewolves growled balefully at them, jerking forward, almost unable to hold themselves back from tearing them apart. While higher and higher soared Voldemort – a speck of white in the black vastness.

They had nowhere to go and they were terrified beyond their wits. Harry saw no escape, but he had to try, he just had to.

"_Reducto! Reducto! Reducto!_" he roared at several werewolves in the hope to clear a way for them through the canine circle. But the werewolves leapt away, tails swishing even gracefully, and they returned to their positions, pacing back and forth, begging to crush them.

Their feet floundered on the ground desperately, kicking dust into the air. They could spy several figures shrouded in the shadows, hiding behind the corners of the houses, crouching in the darkness. Others were kicking their feet and banging their fists at the air as though there was a wall in front of them.

"Harry," sniffed Draco, looking around the tight circle and back at Greyback, who was circling them still with that teasing grin on his snout.

"Nowhere to go for the hero and the prince," Greyback growled in a singsong rasp. "This is long overdue-"

"Greyback, get on with it!" Voldemort cawed in his high, clear voice from above. The leaves of the canopy rustled and the fur of the lupine ring appeared to ruffle with a breeze.

Greyback pounced again, and there was a finality and conviction to his charge. Dust swirled in the air, a glimpse of fur, a growl, a flash of white or silver, tail swishing in the air… And Harry did not know what to do. They were stuck, Greyback was coming, and he would surely be mauled to death while Draco was done upon in ways the furthest reaches of his imagination failed to envision...

Greyback was finally off the earth – he was leaping, suspended in mid-air, claws and teeth reaching forward, four thousand pounds of instant death in full flight… And he was upon them. Harry felt the claws dig into his shoulders, felt the massive body weigh him down, taking him to the ground. He slammed into Draco, and all three were falling, seemingly in slow motion but sure to reach the earth where some unknown horrors would become…

His glasses were lost and he could not, and his blurred vision only worsened the malicious image in front of him: the underbelly of the hugest werewolf in the pack, the yawning mouth, the pink tongue, the horrible smell of wet dog, sweat and blood… He could still feel Draco grappling for a hold on his robes from behind, falling as surely as he was. And he thought about Draco. He had to do all he could but he did not think he had enough strength in him to repeat the feat he had performed minutes ago. But still he turned – his limbs twisted and he was facing Draco as they fell. Perhaps Greyback might find his back tastier than Draco…

He faced Draco, and just before they slammed into the ground with Greyback on Harry's neck, there was a moment of nothing wherein he gazed blindly into Draco's grey eyes in which he caught something a little more than fear, and Harry had no capacity to find out. Those shell-pink lips that he knew were heavenly soft and just right – these lips started moving, quickly, surely, and there was too a ring of finality within the words that slipped out from them.

"I love you, Harry."

And they plunged into the earth. Harry smelled that repulsive odour again of wet dog. There was heavy breathing on his neck just before Greyback's long snout recoiled and descended upon it. Every muscle in Harry's neck tensed, waiting for the bite that would ultimately undo him. But then there was a slashing, squishy noise, and a moment's pause.

Draco smiled.

Harry did not feel teeth on his neck, only the crushing weight of Greyback, and heard no other sound but that of Greyback's guttural raspy gasp. Harry tentatively turned to look over his shoulder to see Greyback's golden eyes bulging. The silence suddenly broke apart and knives rained everywhere. Greyback was blasted backwards and he exploded in blood and bones and fur before he touched the ground, slashed by the daggers. Howls of pain rented the air as a thousand knives multiplied and exploded into a thousand other knives whenever they came into contact with another werewolf or knife.

"_Protego!_" cried Harry, who had been cut. A silver dome encapsulated him and Draco and protected them from the uncontrollable replication of Sirius' dagger, the copies of which glimmered brightly in the dark night as the rune-like dials on their blades flashed. Harry held fiercely onto Draco as the sounds of wails and howls of agony filled their ears.

"WHAT IS THIS?" boomed Voldemort from above. Harry looked up from Draco's neck and saw a white streak hurtling towards the earth. He also saw Dean, Seamus, Neville, Ron, Hermione and other DA members thrashing at that invisible wall that seemed to surround him, Draco and the werewolves. Every one of the werewolves were cut down by the thousand daggers that continued to multiply, spawning generations upon generations, all blinking white and blue and gold, lighting up the dark sky like a million neon signs.

"WHAT IS HAPPENING? MY ARMY! YOU'VE LOST ME MY ARMY!"

The mewls and the wails and the howls faded as the last werewolves that could not escape Voldemort's barrier were slashed to death. Harry was scrambling to his feet, gritting his teeth at the pain in his back and the deep cut in his elbow. He offered a hand to Draco, who took it and pulled himself up to his feet before the both of them and the rest of the DA found themselves on the ground when Voldemort released a mechanical shriek like a roaring metal dragon – high, cold and metallic – or a car accident when metal crushed metal. As Harry fell he caught the glint of the blade of a single dagger lying on the ground, its thousand duplicates nowhere to be seen.

Meanwhile the wispy ball of smoke was returning to earth, crimson slits blazing with fury. It came to a stop and hovered a few feet above the ground. Then the ghostly head seemed to gain substance. It grew whiter and heavier, solidifying, and before Harry's eyes stood once more the snake-like corporeal Voldemort with his flat, fluorescent face and large, spidery hands. Voldemort hissed furiously at Harry and Draco as they scrambled to their feet again before touching his wrist with a long finger. A moment later there was a flurry of sudden movement as figures Apparated around them, standing in a circle around them.

"Harry!" screamed Hermione as she banged her fist at the open air in front of her, tears streaming down her face.

"You've left me no other choice, Potter! It wasn't my wish to call upon my Death Eaters tonight, but as always you've shown an irksome lack of respect for my plans!"

"Sorry to be such a pain in the arse," Harry said, looking around him at the hooded figures, his heart thundering madly inside his chest, his veins soaked with adrenaline, his mind exhausted with the constancy of his fear, desperation and the unrelenting threat that persisted, never allowing him relief that it was over and let him run away with his and Draco's lives still theirs.

There was a crazy shriek of delight, and Harry's eyes flew to one of the shortest figures of the Death Eaters. The figure lifted its hood and moonlight fell upon the pale, strong-jawed countenance of Bellatrix Lestrange. Her heavily-lidded eyes glowed with mad malice at Harry.

"Icky baby Potty-poo! All alone with my little nephew, ooh! Aren't you going to say hello to your Aunt, Draciepoo?"

Draco's lips were drawn into his mouth, leaving a trembling, tight fold in his face, while his grey eyes bulged with reminiscent fear.

"Enough games," Voldemort said softly. "The last time we had the pleasure of Potter's company it was on a most triumphant and auspicious night. Then, Potter's slippery nature played to its part, and he was able to slip away from my wrath once more. But tonight I wish to dispel all doubt once more, and I will rid us of the last of the Potters once and for all. You have lived a decade and a half too long, Harry Potter. It will end now." Voldemort raised his wand. "_Avad-_"

"AWHOOOOOOO!"

Voldemort peered up at the sky and the rooftops around him, his spell dying on his lips.

Harry's heart pounded wildly as the fear washed over him that not all of the werewolves had been slain. He cast his eyes around the scene and spotted what had made the noise: standing on a roof of a house, the vast moon hanging behind it in seeming support, was a large, black shaggy dog. The shortest of the Death Eaters uttered a watery, breathy gasp as he gazed up at the enormous creature.

"It's the Animagus, my Lord!" wheezed Wormtail.

Voldemort said nothing, his scarlet slits narrowed at the silhouetted figure. Then he said, "I see."

Bellatrix Lestrange let out a broken, high-pitched noise of disbelief, her chest rising and falling rapidly. The dog watched them for several heartbeats before it leapt off the roof, landed on the ground with a puff of dust and charged for the ring of Death Eaters. Before Harry nearly missed the low whisper of Voldemort's voice he had expected Padfoot to crash into the mysterious invisible barrier but Padfoot's charge was unimpeded. Perhaps thinking that their master's magic would surely protect them for the creature, the Death Eaters did not move at all but were startled into action only after Padfoot took one of them down by the neck and ripped it apart. The Death Eaters sprung to life and whipped out their wands, raining curses on Padfoot, who turned around and streaked for the labyrinth of houses for his life.

"Death Eaters, do not rest until you find and do away with him," commanded Voldemort, looking slightly contemplative as he watched his servants clear out. "It will be you and me, Potter, again."

The DA members swarmed into the field now that the barrier had been lifted, shouting Harry's name and brandishing their wands at Voldemort. But no one attacked, and before any of them could react, they were swept off their feet again as some transparent bubble expanded from the ground between Harry and Draco after Voldemort flicked his wand. It swelled until it shielded the three of them from the rest of the world once again.

"Harry!" wailed Hermione, now positively distraught, banging weakly at the barrier that once again separated her from her friends. Frustrated and fed up, the other members seemed to have decided not to get up from the ground but rather propped themselves up with their arms. Some of them were staring at the figure of Voldemort in awe. They now had concrete, real input with which to shape and flesh out their vague imaginings about the Darkest wizard of all time, the subject of the legends about which their parents spoke only in whispers, legends scarcely documented in books not allowed to find their hands.

"Sirius Black will join your parents as well as those of your boyfriend, Potter. It's needless to worry about him for now. _Expelliarmus!_"

With deep despair Harry watched as his wand, which he had been just about to raise at Voldemort, flew in a graceful arch into the air and landed with a soft clank on top of one of the rooftops: he was defenceless. His mind was whirring, and the first thing that occurred to it was Draco's own wand, and he thought nervously how less powerful he could be using it.

Voldemort smiled. "Sit still now, Potter," he said, his pale, outstretched arm gleaming in the darkness as he held his wand aloft at Harry. "Now, would you like to learn how your precious grandfather met his fate? Would you like to know just how Dumbledore's final moments unfolded?"

He was standing defenceless in front of Draco, before Voldemort, a wand raised at him. What could he do?

"Of course, as you may dearly love to think, Dumbledore didn't go quietly – he gave quite a fight, and he had a flare I had not known he possessed – waves of red and golden fire everywhere, I tell you. It is intriguing how a saint like Dumbledore seems to cherish such a destructive force as fire when he presents to the world a face of innocent wisdom and twinkling blue eyes which would undoubtedly amuse to a toddler who knows little better-"

"You shut up about Dumbledore! You didn't know him!" Harry exploded.

"And you did, Potter?" jeered Voldemort, nostrils flaring in malicious mirth. "You claim you knew Dumbledore? You claim you saw what I saw in his final moments – the screams he screamed in the bowels of his deepest nightmares, of his darkest fears, of his greatest regrets, do you?" Voldemort's leering smile trembled with amusement. "See, one's true colours, I believe, reveal themselves at the whisper of their fate. Dumbledore had showed his when my Inferi descended upon him. He was quite the sight, he cut a remarkable – even admirable – figure. But he had to go, and I dealt with him: he rots away dismantled in the grounds of your school, which, upon some time, will be mine, come what may."

"Harry," moaned Draco in his ear, looking over Harry's shoulder at Voldemort, whose eyes widened in attention.

"Ah… my pretty catamite-!"

"He's not your pretty anything!" Harry snarled.

Voldemort threw his head back in shrill laughter. Harry took this opportunity to grab Draco's wand out of his hand and shout towards the rooftop, "_Accio wand!_" He heard his wand fly through the air better than he saw it in the dim light, and it shot straight into his hand. Voldemort stopped laughing abruptly and his scarlet slits glinting malevolently.

"Very cunning," said Voldemort. "It's almost _Slytherin_ of you…" Voldemort's grin widened, knowing exactly what he had done; Harry's face had gone pale. "You think you can beat me in a duel, do you?"

"Yeah, I reckon I can," Harry replied, licking his lips, breathing hard and thinking very quickly. He could barely see the thing at which he was pointing his wand.

Voldemort smiled again – it was an ugly thing to witness. His red slits flicked to Draco behind him. "You stand, once more, between me and what is mine."

"He's not yours – he's mine!" Harry shouted, looking left and right, desperate for a plan.

Voldemort laughed again, a wheezy, breathless, cold noise – mirthless and deranged. "You think so, do you? Were you the one to bury your tool in his warm canal? Were you the one to feel him in his deepest places, acquaint yourself with his soul more intimately than a frivolous peck on the-?"

"Shut up!" Harry whispered in an airy, lilting, almost squeaky voice, suddenly breathless as though the wind had been knocked out of him. Voldemort chuckled breathlessly and coldly again in that thin, floating, breathy sort of chuckle – cold and weightless upon a weightless air.

"You haven't, have you, Potter? Haven't tasted the innocence of his flesh, dipped your being into untouched purity, savouring every stretch of skin, every spark of feeling as you thrust into him hungrily-"

"Shut up!" roared Harry. He was shaking all over. And even though Voldemort was enjoying taunting him Harry noticed that his scarlet slits were glowing steadily brighter, only indicative of the fury waiting to unleash, building up in the wand tip pointed at him.

"You have done nothing to him, Potter, you understand? You haven't felt him. You don't own him. He belongs with me, chained to my bed."

"Shut your mouth or I swear…!" Harry was so furious his words were tumbling from his lips, and his breathing was becoming sharp and stilted. The secret was out to everyone. He wanted to snap that leering, pale face in half. He wanted to kill it, kill Voldemort, let him howl in pain for once just as his army of monsters had.

"Come to me, my pretty catamite?" crooned Voldemort, his head tilting to one side like a baby listening to a wonderful lullaby or a puppy staring curiously.

"HE'S NOT YOURS! HE'S MINE! _I_ LOVE HIM! YOU CAN'T! AND YOU WON'T HURT HIM AGAIN!"

"Enough!" shrieked Voldemort, his tall nostrils flaring. "Won't you say hello to your parents for me?

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_"

The DA gasped collectively as before their very eyes Harry's face broke apart. But Voldemort's wore that mild expression of quiet fury again as though his face had broken so many times the effect had faded. The two curses rushed towards each other, collided and all felt a vibration sweep under their feet when a sphere of light exploded into being from where the spells met. Harry's wand started vibrating uncontrollably.

Draco had run for cover towards the edge of the dome that trapped them inside, cowering on the floor next to Ron and Hermione. But he started thrashing around trying to grab them or find purchase on the ground because he was suddenly being lifted into the air by some invisible force, the origin of which became apparent when a black nothingness expanded out of the brilliant sparkling sphere of light between Harry and Voldemort. Draco sailed through the air towards the black vortex to be swallowed up. Seeing this, Harry swung his wand upwards with all his might and broke the connection, causing Draco to fall back to the earth, sending dust in the air. But then there was the noise of shuffling feet: the Death Eaters had returned from their pursuit. Spell-light immediately erupted as the DA sprang to their feet and clashed with the Death Eaters but the DA soon pounded the ground in the opposite direction as jets of green light chased them. But a few members were not lucky to escape the impervious power of the Unforgivable curse, and Harry watched Braden, Colin's friend, fall to his demise after a Killing Curse hit him square between his shoulder blades.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_" Voldemort roared.

And Harry knew it was surely over, saw the spell heading for him before he thought it, because the air was alight with green once more while he still looked in the direction of Braden's body, and the Killing Curse was surely to stifle his life in one stroke…

But then, as his inside turned cold, he heard a soaring caw, saw a flash of scarlet with the corner of his eye, and he turned around to see a small form burst into a spectacular shower of golden light as it met with Voldemort's Killing Curse.

"Fawkes!" Harry shouted at the shrivelled black bunch of feathers that plummeted lifelessly to the ground. But then it burst again into golden flames, and Fawkes, whole, fully grown and scarlet once more, rose sharply into the air and joined his two other companions, and they all dived for the Death Eaters: Dragonfly cleaned up a handful of Death Eaters while Hedwig flapped her wings ferociously and clawed at them with his powerful talons.

"Hedwig!" said Harry, his voice going up an octave in disbelief.

Hedwig hooted distractedly back at him as she was busy taking care of business. Many of the Death Eaters lost their wands at the end of the wings of their avian assailants. The DA swooped and returned to the fray, blasting the Death Eaters backwards, Incarcerating others, and some fell to the ground under a Full-Body-Bind.

Killing Curses streamed fiercely through Voldemort's lipless mouth. And so much was his pure fury that it blasted both the Death Eaters and Dumbledore's Army onto their backs. The spells rained on them, but then Fawkes descended towards Harry and burst into golden light in front of Harry's eyes, sending the Killing Curses scattering in all other directions. Harry breathed in the golden dust into Harry's lungs, Fawke's essence travelling through his body, downwards, across his arm, into his wand and there burst out from the tip of it a brilliant rope of fire. Voldemort repelled it and glared at Harry angrily.

In utter incomprehension and incredulity, but instinct overtaking his senses, Harry came to his feet and reverently and slowly raised his wand, and the rope followed it. Something was swelling inside him. He was thinking about Dumbledore again as Fawkes' musical cry flew over his soul again, and Harry, his eyes now blazing a fiery gold instead of their usual emerald, raised his wand higher and started to twirl the rope like a vast lasso into a fiery whirlwind. Curtains of hot crimson and golden fire swept the air and lit it up. The Death Eaters howled in agony and the DA ran to safety. The shrill shriek Harry heard did nothing to break the soaring music, and Harry could vaguely hear through the roaring of the fire Voldemort screaming to his Death Eaters to retreat.

Harry stopped spinning the fire and it disappeared as quickly as though it had merely been a magician's illusion. Some of the Death Eaters – and under one hood of which for a split second in the wake of the light of his fire, Harry spied a strong-jawed, square face and cold, smalt eyes: Fauss – Disapparated away. Voldemort turned back into formless spirit and ascended skywards.

"Let's go, Draco!" shouted Harry to Draco after pocketing Sirius' dagger from where it lay on the ground. He had spoken in an unnecessarily loud voice but the roaring of the fire was still ringing in his ear.

"Wait!" said Draco, and he strode away towards one of the more badly burnt Death Eaters who perhaps had not enough strength to Disapparate. And though they were a few who remained, wailing and clutching their injured body parts while still hooded, Draco approached one Death Eater with a surety in his stride that suggested he knew exactly whom he was approaching. He stooped low on the Death Eater holding his charred left arm gingerly, which had a wide open gash that allowed Harry to see the fatty layer of adipose tissue beneath.

Draco pushed back his hood, revealing the haggard face of an eye-patched Macnair – the Death Eater who had been keen to rape Draco in the gathering during the summer, called him 'pretty' and had broken Harry's wand. Cognisant of all three facts, Harry growled, "You!" and strode forward, the searing pain in his elbow and back quite forgotten, brandishing his wand and about to deal more damage to add to the split arm and burns.

"No," said Draco firmly, his grey eyes narrowed at Macnair. "He's mine. He's always wanted me since as far as I can remember. Nearly had me alone when I was eight years old once. Luckily Severus saw him before he could do anything to me. But I've always wanted to do this – dreamed of this moment, fantasized about it more and more from the very moment I learned this spell. I thought it was designed so perfectly for him."

"What sp-?"

"_Sectumsempra!_" roared Draco, bringing down his wand on the Death Eater, and by the rising of the hairs on the back of his neck, Harry did not need his glasses to gather that this was Dark magic he was witnessing. The red, laser-like spell descended upon Macnair and slashed his face and body into two. The two parts of his torso slid diagonally off each other with squishy friction and fell to the floor with a soft thump, a crimson pool bathing the flesh as blood pooled rapidly and ran along the earth.

Harry's eyebrows contracted at the disgusting sight. He almost could not believe that Draco had done it, that he knew such an evil-seeming spell. "Draco," he said vaguely, not knowing what he was feeling. However, he thought Macnair deserved his fate somewhat.

"Let's go," said Draco quietly, breathing hard through his nostrils as though he had just run a mile. "Dragonfly!" he shouted.

"Hedwig!" Harry called. "Guys!"

Suddenly his immense exhaustion and the screaming pain in his muscles and the stitches seemed to reawaken. Harry dropped to the floor. His limbs were tingling strangely, he could barely see the night sky as he stared up at it without his glasses, which seemed to egg on the blackening of the fringes of his vision, steadily swallowing it up until Harry found his eyelids drooping and some places of his muscles twitching randomly on their own accord. This usually happened when he exerted himself without having a single crumb of food in his tank.

Harry remembered a narrator's voice on a Sunday nature programme talking about the adverse effect of lactose seeping into the muscles of a hunted animal, which was why hunters liked to kill their prey before it took flight before the adrenaline kicks in and spoils the taste of its meat. The hunted… They had been the hunted, hunted down by lupine monstrosities. But most of them were alive, they had survived…

Harry's hand grabbed Draco's ankle, whereupon Draco stooped down but did not sit on the ground, perhaps fearful of the dirt. But Harry did not have a mind for such provincial worries of appearance. His own hair was directly on the ground and surely covered in dust. He wanted to feel Draco beside him: he took the Slytherin's wrist and yanked it, causing Draco to fall reluctantly on the ground. Seconds later Harry felt a cold touch on his forehead, and he closed his eyes.

"Okay, who did we lose?"

"Fred!" admonished Ginny sharply.

"What? It's a valid question."

"It could've done with a lot more delicacy!"

"We'll go back and try and see if there's anyone we can recover."

Harry thought it might have been Dean's voice but he could not be sure. Then he remembered…

"Colin… Please. Colin. Check for Colin. Don't leave him…"

He did not hear any noises of agreement to his dazed please but he did not have the energy to watch their reaction. He subsequently heard shuffling noises and fading footsteps and knew that they were off to salvage.

Where was Sirius? Was he alive? If so, was he okay?

Draco continued to touch Harry's face gently, gazing down at him with his head tilted to one side. Harry brought his hand to the back of Draco's neck. "You're mine alone, aren't you?" he whispered breathlessly.

"Of course, Harry. I'm yours alone forever – I'm your pretty catamite," Draco declared with a small smile.

"My pretty catamite… Yes… You said you… You said you…"

"I did. I do love you. I've had since a long time ago. I was just a stubborn, proud prick. Sometimes you can't take me seriously… But tonight, what you did back there, Harry…!"

Harry smiled breathlessly, his chest rising and falling deeply. He opened his eyes a little bit to see Draco's expression of awe.

"I was brilliant, wasn't I?"

Draco looked down at Harry and stared at him in astonishment. Harry usually was not one to brag or recognize his own brilliance. Draco suddenly gave a bark of laughter even louder than the one Seamus had elicited from him after he moved into Gryffindor Tower. It was so beautiful a sound it was disturbing and mortifying, quite ill-fitting for a refined aristocrat. It was raw, true, honest and beautiful. Harry's smile widened and its glow seeped into his eyes which watched the starry sky. He felt Draco's laughter vibrate through his own body in the same way phoenix song had.

"How did you know I had Sirius's dagger with me?" he asked when Draco's laughter subsided.

"I saw it flash in the moonlight just before Greyback went for us."

Harry nodded. "Nothing misses your eye, eh?"

"Of course, Potter – I was born a Slytherin," Draco declared in that smirking tone of his.

About twenty minutes later Harry heard the group that had gone to search for the others return.

"And?" Harry heard Ginny ask.

There was no answer. A few seconds someone reported, "We couldn't—there wasn't—Colin… If you could have—he looked so small… Did you see his spine sticking out-?"

"Shut up already, will you, mate?" Ron snapped sharply. And in a much softer and soothing voice he said quietly, "It's all right. Don't think about it, Hermione… He didn't suffer too much, I'm sure of it."

Harry was quite sure that the pause was Ron glaring at Dean as though accusing him for lack of tact.

"I'll hold your Invisibility Cloak for you, Harry," said Hermione in a slightly muffled voice that suggested her head was resting in Ron's chest.

"I can do that for him, Granger," said Draco.

There was a moment of silence.

"Oh," Hermione said in a high voice, sounding thoroughly flabbergasted. "Oh—I—okay…"

Harry felt Draco leave his side for a minute before he returned folding his Invisibility Cloak with care, something which, strangely, turned Harry on, exhausted and beaten though he felt.

"Do we begin to head back to school now?" asked George.

The question brought home for Harry the fact that they would have to walk all the way to Honeydukes in the centre of the village. His muscles seemed to scream just then and the stinging pain in his elbow and lower back surged – he could not lift himself off the ground if he tried. Then there was a flash of scarlet in the corner of his frame of vision of the night sky. He opened his eyes fully and watched as Fawkes flew in a circle above them, and an answer rose to his lips so effortlessly it might have come from his own soul.

"No," he said quietly. "We don't have to. Fawkes will take us there…" And again with knowledge deeper than he could explain he whispered, "I know it, somehow…"

Fawkes let out a melodic caw as he circled them.

"Hedwig…"

Hedwig hooted and flapped into Harry's view, landing next to his head. She gave his hair a friendly clap. Harry smiled weakly again.

"Er, I don't understand," came Fred's sceptic voice. "A bird the size of, er, well, a bird, is somehow going to transport us to Hogwarts?"

"Yes," said Harry quietly, blinking slowly.

"Right."

There was a brief silence before someone else piped up, "Er, Harry, I really don't think a bird could carry all of us… Is he all right? Maybe got a concussion or something – I should…"

"Leave him, Hermione, Draco's tending to him. Don't stress yourself."

Fawkes cried again.

"I just know it…"

"Okay, let's say we accept this hypothesis of yours," began Fred.

"He'll get us home, I promise," said Harry softly.

There was another pause.

"Fawkes, take us home."

With another musical cry, Fawkes swooped down on each of them and in turn they disappeared from the face of Hogsmeade, leaving behind a single scarlet feather.


	37. The Hogwarts Howler

**Chapter 37**

_**The Hogwarts Howler**_

A blurry ceiling stretched from the centre towards the top and bottom of his field of vision. No matter how hard he blinked the stencils and the fine cracks on it that he knew from the back of his hand did not become clearer. Bright, almost painful, sunlight streamed through a nearby mullioned window. It was the first day of a new month, a new beginning surely. He blinked again futilely, squinted up and met the pale underside of a chin. Harry recoiled slightly, blinked harder than ever and watched Draco's face smiling down at him.

"Hey, you."

Harry looked away before the colour of his cheeks could betray him and hauled himself up to a sitting position. He stretched, cracking his bones. "Draco," he yawned. He felt around for his glasses and when he did not find them he remembered that they had been crushed hours earlier.

"Pomfrey couldn't do anything for your eyes, sorry: you're irrevocably sightless. I'm supposed to guide you for the whole day, she said. Of course I can't do that since I technically no longer study at this school. So Granger and Weasley will have to take turns being your guide dog until we can come up with some plan… And I think they're waging a fight against Madam Pomfrey on the drawbridge as we speak." And sure enough, now that he was fully awake, Harry could hear protesting and a few beseeching cries at the doors of the infirmary. "Shush, don't make a noise – maybe they'll go away."

"I don't want my friends to go away," Harry said before declaring loudly in Draco's face, "Good morning, Draco."

Draco's mouth fell open and he narrowed his eyes at Harry.

"See! He's awake! He'd want to see us – we're his friends, woman!"

"Ron, do be polite! Madam Pomfrey, please, we just want to see if he's all right."

"Are you questioning my healing skill, little missy?"

"I—I—of course not-!"

"Of course she's not questioning your healing skills, lady! You've healed Harry wonderfully since first year!" Ron paused here, perhaps to let the compliment sink in. "We're just asking to see him for a few minutes, then you can chuck us out if you want!"

"Well, all right," sighed an exasperated-sounding Madam Pomfrey after a short pause. "But hurry if will you, my patients need resting time to recuperate properly before they can hurt themselves all over again and come back."

She was clearly referring to Harry.

"Don't worry, we'll only bother one of them. We're not so interested in the other one. We'll leave him to sleep all he wants."

"Ron," admonished Hermione. Her voice grew louder as they approached as she continuing reproaching Ron.

"Harry, mate—Oh…"

Ron had been about to fling himself onto his bed when he noticed who else was in it and broke off before he took flight, seeming to have crashed into a glass sliding door. Then Dean, Seamus, Blaise and Goyle came into view a second later, looking over their shoulders suspiciously as they scanned the area for signs of Madam Pomfrey: they had every appearance of having sneaked in. Blaise and Goyle came around the bed and stood at Draco's side while the Gryffindors stood on the other side.

"Hey, guys," Harry said, grinning. The Gryffindors chorused back in greeting.

"How're you doing?" asked Hermione.

Harry shrugged. His injuries were minor, but he could still feel the lingering sting in his muscles from running the hardest and fastest and longest he had ever ran in his life. Harry looked around at the Slytherins and Gryffindors around their bed. He was aware that they all knew two facts: that Draco had been a sex slave to Voldemort and that Sirius had been that enormous shaggy dog they had seen yesterday. These facts considered, Harry did not feel alarmed at all, however, because he knew he could trust them with even his own life. They had run alongside him, battled the werewolves beside him, and had been united in fear with him. Harry would die for any of them.

"You all right?" Blaise asked Draco. Crabbe, who now looked strangely diminished without his equally bulky companion beside him, nodded approvingly at the question.

Draco rolled his shoulders. "I could do with a shot of Ogden's though," he chortled.

Blaise snorted and Crabbe wore a reminiscent grin as though having a taste of Firewhiskey in his mind as he stood there.

Harry turned sharply to Draco. "What's that?" he asked, an uneasy suspicion already growing in his head.

"Firewhisky, Harry," Draco answered with a soft, chiding cluck of his tongue in seeming irritation and incredulity as though he did not believe Harry did not know about Odgen's Old Firewhiskey this and was acting foolish to be funny.

"You drink?" asked Harry, his eyes popping wide as he stared at the blurred and pale, easily innocent-looking face, recalling his brilliant teeth so white they appeared almost blue, untouched by alcohol seemingly.

Draco looked affronted. "Well, I wouldn't put it that way," he said defensively with a gentle scowl. "I'm the occasional drinker."

Harry merely stared at the pale blur in front of him. Draco looked far too… pure to be a drinker. It was hard to believe it. Draco looked away from Harry's eyes as though they scorched him. Seamus wore a similar look of disbelief and disappointment at Draco as he clutched Dean's hand in his own openly, apparently not bothering to hide anymore.

"Drinking. At fifteen," observed Ron quietly with pursed lips superiorly in a very Hermione-like way and in a tone that suggested he thought himself to be on higher moral ground.

Harry turned to Ron and his eyes landed on his freckled hand, like Dean and Seamus, intertwined with Hermione's, the latter of which twitched when it felt Harry's eyes on it and attempted to pull out of its freckled companion but Ron held on firmly, unwilling to let go. Harry looked up into his face and could not read much more in the expression than an edge of defiance. He was vaguely revisited by that strange sense of abandonment he had felt when he had seen Hedwig so shamelessly enthralled with Dragonfly the night he visited his dormitory, when he had caught Seamus' and Dean's surreptitious mating hands in the common room, and now as he looked at his two best friends standing in front of him hand in hand.

But this time there was no accompanying sting of betrayal, of feeling left alone and feeling as though he were missing out on a vital aspect of life, because he too had someone now. Someone with whom he was involved, had as his own – his special, significant other. One who complemented him and with whom he could share and gain energy and on whom bounce off, judge and gauge his ideas and stances. So, now filled up and not lacking, he instead smiled at Ron and Hermione proudly. And they blushed harder than they ever had before.

"Congratulations!" Harry cheered happily.

"Ron first thought he was attracted to you!" Harry said very rapidly and in a high voice. "We really didn't ask for it to happen!"

Seamus turned sharply to Ron, whose face turned an ugly puce.

"Hermione!" the redhead squeaked in horror, looking thoroughly betrayed.

Hermione flustered horribly, turned an even more impressive and violent red to match her Gryffindor jersey and studied the floor as though he held all the secrets of life.

Harry's dark eyebrows disappeared into his shock of raven hair. He did not understand. He remembered the longstanding chemistry between Ron and Hermione since term had begun a month ago. They had demonstrated a secret understanding between each other when Harry had lost control of his magic and shook the common room. They completed Ron's Transfiguration essay together looking beetroot purple in the face. Harry had always known them to fight and bicker like an old couple. And lately Harry had noticed that Ron was starting to pick up some of Hermione's habits. After all of this, how could Ron… possibly want him? Harry could not even…

Yet even as he gaped in befuddlement he suddenly recalled Ron giving him that strange squeeze to his pectorals, and then that equally baffling and curious outburst: _You know, I'm the one who's looked out for you for all these years. I'm the one who stood up for you. I'm the one who woke you up while you were moaning in your nightmares. I'm the one who climbs in your bed and comforts you and rubs your back until you go back to sleep – not Malfoy. Why should he have you?_

He had never known Ron to be gay – quite the opposite if anything. Had Ron thought that if there was anyone with whom Harry would want to explore his new homosexual whims, it would be him because they were best of friends? Or had Ron perhaps thought it was better for him to have Harry than for Draco Malfoy to? Had he decided he would rather sacrifice himself so he could in some way save Harry? Or had he simply suffered an instance of masculine insecurity and grown an infatuation for Harry?

"Sorry, Ron," said Harry with a smirk, "but as you can see, I don't do redheads – I'm more of a dumb-blond person."

"Who you calling dumb?" growled Crabbe, stepping closer to the bed, his figure suddenly seeming not so diminished at all.

"Yes, Potter, do explain yourself," Draco demanded tersely.

Harry winced. "I was just kidding, babes?" He gave the blond a conciliatory and pleading peck on the lips. Ron mewled and screwed up his face but stopped when Hermione stomped on his foot.

"You think a kiss is going to make everything fine and dandy again?" asked Draco, who had reacted to and acknowledged neither the affectionate term nor the kiss, which was particularly disheartening for Harry, who attempted to disarm Draco by keeping his idiotic, lopsided grin and making fun of himself. He had thought the affectionate term would have gone a long way to bridging things as it was something with which he was uncomfortable at the moment and had to work on to get used to, and that this uncharacteristic effort to be a wittier and more sensitive partner and be on the same brain wavelength as Draco would have appealed to the Slytherin, who had appreciated his rare spasm of boastfulness just the previous day.

It quite fortunate at that moment that there was the sound of flapping wings. They all turned to the window and saw Hedwig and Dragonfly beating the window down barbarically.

"Hedwig!" Harry said as he attempted to lift the covers to slip out, but Hermione yanked them down and glared at him threateningly.

"Stay put. Pomfrey'd never forgive us for letting you out of bed. She barely let us in as it was."

Meanwhile, Draco, free from authority-adherent friends like Hermione Granger, had got out of bed and tiptoed to the window, which he then pulled open and let the two owls fly inside. Dragonfly landed on Draco's arm, which was weighed upon so alarmingly that it nearly took Draco to the floor before he recovered. Hedwig flew over to Harry, landed on his shoulder and nipped him in the ear affectionately.

"Hey, girl." This was all Harry was able to say to her as she quickly flew back to Dragonfly after the eagle owl hooted. It had not sounded the slightest commanding, which was just as well, Harry thought, imagining what Hedwig would have done if she thought Dragonfly was trying to order her as though she were some vapid, stay-at-nest owl. Dragonfly's golden brown wings flapped importantly and snow white followed suit. But this weird courtship of sorts was shortly interrupted by a scandalized scream.

"Oh! Owls in the infirmary! I will not have this! OUT, you creatures, out! I granted you this favour and this is how you repay me?" breathed Pomfrey, looking menacing in her apron as she fisted her hands against her hips. Hedwig and Dragonfly flew out of the window and into the distance. "And what's all this?" went on a fuming Pomfrey, gesturing broadly at the Slytherins. "New faces I see, eh? Sneaked in, did you, then? Well, I'll simply not tolerate it! Leave the hospital wing at once! At once! All of you!"

Pushing and pulling them and slapping a few stubborn others, Madam Pomfrey drove Harry's and Draco's visitors out of the infirmary. And they heard the sound of the door closing shut and then a loud sigh of satisfaction before Pomfrey's footsteps came closer as she muttered about children and proper medical care. Reappearing in front of them once more, it was apparent Madam Pomfrey was not just about done. She replaced her hands on her hips.

"And you, young man," she said strictly as she eyed Harry, making a plain effort to ignore Draco lying next to him in his white hospital robe. "I never expected it of you but now that you're not satisfied with making regular trips in here, you're also finding a fascination with weapons, are you? Wait till the headmistress hears of this, you just wait…"

At these puzzling words Harry sharply turned to the top of his bedside drawer, and there upon it lay Sirius' dagger quite placidly, nothing of this calm picture at rest recalling the deadly feat it had managed of decimating an entire pack of werewolves mere hours before.

"It's not a weapon!" Harry protested, looking back at Madam Pomfrey. But she was so adrift in her monologue that she could not have stopped even if she had heard him.

"Oh yes, Madam Pomfrey, heal my wounds, grow back my bones, fix my concussion! All the while gallivanting with a grotesque weapon and sneaking out in the middle of the night! I've heard those offish rumours from the Fat Lady of your common room. Cannot believe I lend my services to irresponsible, ungrateful…" And she walked off, mouth rapping wildly with what Harry thought were unfounded accusations and ill-information, which was not unexpected if one's source was the Fat Lady, whom Harry believed must have exaggerated the facts grossly.

"Forget about her," said Draco, "McGonagall'll understand – she's a huge fan of yours as well, I'm sure, Head of your House and all."

"You don't know McGonagall," Harry snorted, folding his arms as he stared into Pomfrey's office through its solid wall, now feeling quite offended himself. That dressing down was uncalled for.

"You healed nicely, see," Draco pointed out as he lifted Harry's white robes, revealed his side and ran his hand over the area near his lower back. "Your body's probably used to seeing this room and kick-starting the healing process. Is this your regular bed?"

Harry lifted himself slightly off the bed to feel his healed flesh for himself it for himself. "Pomfrey's work – it's always perfect." He settled back into position.

"Do you think she'll let you stay in here for a while longer? You might not have to go back into the humdrum circle of life out there just now."

Harry rolled his eyes. "And stay in here all day?"

"Well, yeah, if it means no homework."

"I'm not allergic to homework, you know."

"Could've fooled me," snorted Draco. "But anyone could do with a surprise holiday if it comes along, just like me." And Draco, who was effectively out of school, smirked smugly.

Harry looked away contemplatively, his eyes losing the little focus they had held. Holiday… More time on his hands… for a purpose… "Need to start as soon as possible…"

"What's that?" asked Draco.

Harry shook his head, still staring into the distance. Draco shrugged and began kissing him along the neck, at which Harry slunk away, grinning shyly.

"Draco! She's right in there!"

"Toss her!" said Draco dismissively and went for Harry's lips again, and Harry could not do anything else but kiss back, which started a hot and intense wordless minute. But then, feeling that soft, dizzy sensation again roiling up, begging to spring from his gut, Harry gently pulled back and breathlessly whispered, "She could walk out right now!" Draco looked at him dully as though waiting for him to give him a better reason to stop. "…And I need to go to class!" Harry supplied. "I want to see how everyone else's doing."

"You're that eager to be rid of me?"

"Of course not, you sod. But I want to get out of here as soon as possible. Where's your Portkey?"

Draco carelessly waved his hand at his neatly folded clothes and accessories on the bedside drawer of his own bed. "Somewhere there."

"Come on, let's get dressed."

As he huffed and puffed about Gryffindor tenderness and how senseless his need to check up on other people was, Draco slipped off the bed, went over to his own and pulled on his clothes. With a sickening drop of his stomach, Harry watched Draco don an elegant, emerald robe that very much resembled the one Lucius had dressed him in in his memory which he accessed in Dumbledore's Pensive. Draco grabbed his silver watch, which was too big for his wrist, pulled his head back and studied it before he finished dressing and came over to Harry, taking his arm without saying a word.

"What's this?" Harry enquired, staring at Draco and the watch.

"I want you to wear it," Draco said shortly without looking up.

"Why?" Harry asked almost in protest and was tempted to pull his wrist away from Draco as the Slytherin clicked the watch around his wrist.

"Father gave it to me," Draco answered simply.

Feeling unaccountably uncomfortable, Harry stood and frowned as Draco finally did the clasp and held up his hand, for which the watch was still a little too big but fitted him better than it had its previous owner. Harry, for all his desire to experience all the conceivable different moments of a relationship on a continuum starting from the good to the bad, desired nothing more than for the sentimental moment to end. It was certainly not their first such moment, but it was the first one where Draco was exercising an atrophied – if it was ever used at all – part of him: selflessness and charity.

Damn him but Harry was still fighting to rid himself of his preconceptions about himself as a Gryffindor and Draco as a Slytherin. This selfless act on Draco's part unsettled him because he thought that if anyone in their relationship was supposed to be selfless and altruistic, it was Harry Potter. Draco dependably brought all the negative traits into the relationship _ad infinitum_. They balanced each other out nicely, and Harry had something to do in the way of redeeming Draco and fixing him. But if Draco was transforming himself into a good person all on his own, it was one less way Harry was useful. One less thing to give Draco, whom he wanted to give everything under the sun.

Why did he think of himself as Draco's redeemer? Did he think he was a better human being than Draco? The honest answer embarrassed him. It was true Draco had proven himself selfish, deceptive and unreasonably stubborn, but surely Harry had no right to think himself a better person when he had flaws as well.

Perhaps he was reading too much into things. Perhaps his desire to improve Draco's moral personhood was simply fodder on which their infantile relationship fed to grow organically or a shockwave of their different energies connecting and writhing before they came into equilibrium.

Harry looked down at the flashy silver watch as Draco watched him quite expressionlessly. "What does the writing on the back of it mean?" he enquired, less out of curiosity than a desire to disrupt Draco's blank gaze at him.

"It's in the Northern Sotho language of South Africa. It means _I Live Only for You_."

Harry made a noise of agreement and did not look up from the watch, blazing hot in the face. He was suddenly captivated by the watch's beautiful craftsmanship even though he could still feel Draco's eyes on him. And he knew there was nothing expressionless about it at all.

"It's beautiful," Harry observed with a small cough, running his fingers along the face of the watch.

Still gazing unblinkingly at Harry, Draco tilted his head to the side and said nothing.

"Let's go," Harry said, trying to move away from the moment. "Escort me to Transfiguration."

After stowing Sirius' dagger in his robe he walked out with Draco out of the infirmary. They went to Gryffindor Tower first to fetch their things and were heading to the Transfiguration classroom, in which the students were already filing, when Harry heard an angry hoot from behind them. He spun around and saw a plain, tawny owl swooping down on them, dropped a small note from its talons and flew off with another irritable hoot. Harry caught the missive before it hit the ground and opened it.

_The school gate._

Sirius

Harry's heart pounded. Draco was watching him expectantly. "Sirius's at the gate," Harry said, barely believing the words coming out his own mouth.

"You can't honestly be thinking of going there. Transfiguration is just about to start – McGonagall will turn us to some pendulum grandfather clocks so in future we're wisely timely!"

"I have to go. Come. Besides, there is no future for you." He grabbed Draco by the wrist and dragged him down to the Entrance Hall, across the fields and down the drive. Harry ran the rest of the way towards the school gate after catching the unclear sight of a straggly mass of long, black hair and a glimpse of a slightly ghoulish face.

"Sirius!" Harry yelled with utter happiness as he threw his arms at the gate and hugged Sirius through the bars.

"Hey, Harry!" Sirius' eyes were bright and full of life as he looked at Harry. But his expression wavered when he looked beyond Harry's shoulder at the person behind him. Yet he did not appear startled him. "Draco."

Draco inclined his head.

"Where're the specs?" Sirius asked Harry. "You look… younger."

"Lost them yesterday. I'll make a plan," Harry replied offhandedly. "You look… great!" He knew this was somewhat a lie, and Sirius knew it as well, raising an eyebrow. Harry decided to move on quickly. "It was you yesterday, wasn't it?"

Sirius nodded and smiled warmly at him. "I told you I'd do everything I can to look out for you. Remus couldn't come because they know him, scent and all. They would've killed him on the spot. But that was the most foolish thing you could've ever done. Even this I hadn't expected of you. Werewolves, Harry?"

"We had to do it," said Harry unrepentantly.

"Yes, it would seem so to you, Harry," said Sirius quietly to the accompaniment of Draco's assenting snort. After he looked over to the Slytherin he sighed exasperatedly, "Were you hurt?"

"Not really, no."

"Why did you do it? I've got to hear this one."

Harry shook his head. "Long story – tell you another time. Were _you_hurt?"

"Not really, no. Bellatrix though was very… determined to get me. Alas, the ties that bind us..."

"Come again?" said Harry, who was sure he had not heard Sirius correctly due to all his stress.

"Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry," said Sirius as though the revelation was being wrenched from him unwillingly. "She's family to me. I'll explain some other time."

Harry stared open-mouthed at Sirius and thought he heard a strange noise behind him. "That shrieking little hyperactive woman with the black rings around her eyes and that Voldemort broke out of Azkaban is your family?"

"Quite."

Harry merely stared at Sirius, who waved dismissively with his hand.

"Forget it for now. I'm afraid to ask how many of you survived."

"You should've seen what you dagger did yesterday!" Harry trilled as he changed the subject rather than deal with Sirius' morbid question.

"Oh and what's that?" asked Sirius, humouring him.

"Shredded the whole lot of them, it did! It was brilliant! It was something like what Hermione looked up – I think she called it Legend of a Thousand Knives or some other. I thought me and Draco were done for!"

Sirius looked impressed. "Did the trick then, did it?"

"More than that! But it also nicked me a bit, but Pomfrey took care of that. She's going to retire one of these days 'cause of all the stress I'm giving her alone." Sirius smiled. "So we'll be coming to visit you these coming holidays."

Sirius' eyes shot to Draco. "It's what Dumbledore had planned," he said gently with a small smile on his chapped lips.

"About that," began Draco ominously, at which point Harry looked over his shoulder at him carefully. "I don't think I will be doing that – my parents' villa is just as good a place to hide."

Harry looked at the pale blob behind him. "It was Dumbledore's plan for you to stay with Sirius."

"I know," said Draco, his arms folded, "but plans change. I'm quite comfortable there – I wish to return."

Harry continued to stare at him quietly. Why did Draco not want to respect Dumbledore's plans? It made him feel betrayed all over again and that Draco did not care about how dear Dumbledore had been to him. "It's safer at the Order's headquarters," Harry argued. "You can stay a little while there but you have to go to Sirius' afterwards."

"It might be the safest place but no one knows where the villa is," countered Draco. "So it's practically the safest place in the world. And besides, my parents are there under storage. I have some things to take care of there."

Harry glared at Draco for a few more long seconds before turning his back on him. For the duration of his chat with Sirius he tried driving Draco out of his mind and failed. But among other things, he learned from Sirius that Kingsley Shacklebolt had been made Acting Minister of Magic, something which Harry thought was ridiculous since there was no Ministry to lead. It had evidently fallen in Voldemort's hands. Sirius showed him the _Daily Prophet_he had with him, the heading on the first page of which blared, "Party of Horrors". Harry declined to read it.

Minutes later he and Draco headed back to the Transfiguration classroom. He knew the class was already underway but still stayed with Draco in the middle of the corridor, unable to look him in the eye. Who knew when he would see Draco again after he disappeared?

"When does it activate?" Harry asked.

"I set it for three times, just in case," Draco said. "No one knew what would happen. I didn't know if you'd let me come along, so I had activated it for seven-thirty. If you did let me come along, I still didn't know how long we were going to in Hogsmeade, so I set it for midnight – didn't think it would take long for our necks to get ripped off. Then, if we were somehow to survive, we'd have been grossly injured, so I set it for ten the next day after checking out of the infirmary, as we surely did, which is in-" He took Harry's arm and regarded the silver watch. "-two hours."

"So you still have an hour," Harry pointed out, feeling as though the world was opening up and almost light-headed with relief and happiness. "You can do Transfiguration with me – it's a double period, then you can go after."

Draco did something Harry had never seen him do: pout. "I don't wanna do Transfiguration," he whined. "Besides, McGonagall will probably bite our heads off for being late as you said after you just had to catch up with your Azkabanian godfather."

"McGonagall biting our heads off is nothing new, and that's not funny with the Azkaban thing. Let's just go, can't we?" He grabbed Draco by the wrist and dragged him along.

Very self-consciously Harry led them into the classroom and took their seats while the class remained stunningly quiet. Mercifully, McGonagall had her back turned to the class as she wrote on the chalkboard and had not seen them enter. Despite his painfully blurry vision, Neville was blushing so incandescently that Harry could locate him and make out his doughy, oval-shaped face as he sat next not an enormous blob Harry was certain was the fat girl to which Neville had a liking. That she was attending classes normally must have meant her leg was fine now. The wild bushy mouse-brown mane did not make it hard to spot Hermione, who was looking at him with a warm smile. She turned back to the front at McGonagall flicking her wand at the blackboard while letters chalked themselves across the green surface.

Nearly two hours later Draco helped him out of the Transfiguration classroom as he had done when they left the infirmary, and with Dean, Seamus and Lavender, walked along with them into the corridor.

Meanwhile Hermione's mouth was on overdrive. "We asked McGonagall about what was going happen to those four Slytherins who attacked the others and Draco's parents. She told us she's been keeping them in some abandoned classroom in a cage she Transfigured for them. She said she doesn't know what she's going to do with them because it seems as though there's no one we can trust anymore, not even the Ministry of Magic – I mean, Dumbledore was murdered on their grounds, wasn't he?" But before an uncomfortable silence could arise at the mention of Dumbledore, she swiftly moved on to other matters, one of which was the effect which had been invoked when Harry's and Voldemort's Killing Curses met last evening.

"…From that article Draco gave me, that black hole that nearly sucked you in wasn't supposed to be that strong to do so. But then again strange things that are never supposed to happen always happen between and V—V—V—Voldemort."

Harry blinked at her with a mixture of surprise and pride. It was the first time she had said Voldemort's name. He looked up at Ron and raised his eyebrow expectantly. Ron turned his head the other way.

They reached the spot in the corridor where Draco had disappeared with the Portkey with his parents' corpses yesterday. It was his last time seeing Draco and he could not even do so properly because his glasses were gone. Everything was unfair. Draco's departure, which was minutes away, and the desperation to be with him still stoked a thought that had occurred to him before while they had been in the infirmary: since they had spoilt Voldemort's plans by not only preventing him from expanding his werewolf army but annihilating it altogether, Harry had no idea of Voldemort's next move. Would it be to rebuild that army or come straight for Hogwarts?

With Hogsmeade, Harry at least had had a frame of reference. Now he was clueless – he had no idea how Voldemort's mind worked. He had no other choice but to expect the worst and therefore he had to go for jugular and try to eliminate the entire threat. He had to kill Voldemort: he had to start searching for the Horcruxes. And considering the disbandment of the DA by McGonagall after she found out about it from a visit Madam Pomfrey made during the class and made the connection between it and the recent deaths, consequently handing him and the DA a year-round ban from Quidditch, he felt he had more than enough reason to drop out of school as well.

Should he go with him? Should he go with Draco to that seaside villa and spend time with him there, and start hunting the Horcruxes?

Harry's heart thundered.

_But how can I throw away my school career like this?_

We're talking about the Darkest wizard of all time – school can surely wait.

But Sirius would kill me!

He doesn't have to know.

What about Ron and Hermione?

You know they'd want to come along – they'd insist, in fact.

Harry's mind whirred as he stood there staring at the unclear flood of students, many of which held what were probably copies of the _Daily Prophet_in their hands, flowing in opposite directions as they changed classes. He looked down at his watch and was infuriated when he obviously could not make out the positions of the hands.

"Nine forty-seven," Draco offered. Harry looked up at him and imagined the Slytherin looking at him with pity.

"I want to go with you."

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione gasped. Harry did not mind her but kept looking at Draco, whose expression he could not make out, which did not improve his temper.

"Harry?" said Ron, with a trace of worry in his voice as though he believed Harry had finally gone off the edge, while Lavender's eyes popped open.

Draco stood wordlessly in front of Harry. The Gryffindor did not break the silence and let the expectation for an answer mount.

"What's that in your hand?" he heard Draco enquire as he looked to Harry's right.

"Something that's confiscated," answered Hermione idly, who was frowning at Harry with her mouth slightly gaping. "And it's succeeding tremendously in distracting the entire school this morning as we speak. Lavender wasted no time in taking advantage of the DA being banned and hence my Sneak Jinx not working anymore."

There was an excited screech on Harry's left. "_The Hogwarts Howler_, Harry!" Lavender screeched. "It's finally out! Went to print right this morning! It was an effing nightmare I tell you but Flitwhich and Sprout were real angels and helped us out big time! We'd been working so hard on it, me and… Parvy… and Colin…" She suddenly fell quiet but then quickly gathered herself, snatched the paper out of Hermione's hand threw a naughty look at Harry. She cleared her throat and began to read the front page.

"That is prefect-confiscated property!" Hermione protested without much heart in her words because all her energies were directed at trying to understand what Harry had meant by saying he wanted to go with Draco only a month into the academic year.

Quite ignoring Hermione, Parvati read, "_The Hogwarts Howler_, first edition, October first, nineteen ninety-five-"

"I wanna come with you," Harry declared, cutting across Lavender, who gladly fell silent and sighed soppily, tears brimming in her eyes.

"Hang on, Harry, mate," Ron protested gently. "We're talking about-"

"We're talking about your schooling career being put in jeopardy just because you want to be with Malfoy," said Hermione sharply.

"Mate, for once, I agree with her," Ron said with a slightly guilty grimace.

"Yeah, you would agree with her ʼcause she's your girlfriend. Why can't I be with my boyfriend?" Harry said angrily without turning to them. He heard Hermione gasp in shock.

"At least we'll still be together in school!" she shrieked.

"You heard McGonagall – I'm no longer on the Quidditch team – that's the fun out of school just like that! And Angelina will kill me if she sees me. Besides, I want to… I want to… start searching for them."

There were no more protests after he said this. He had no desire to see figure out the expressions on his friends' faces but continued to fix his eyes on Draco, who had not said a word so far besides enquiring about _The Hogwarts Howler_.

"You want to… start searching for the You-Know-Whats now?" asked Ron, sounding slightly put-upon but mostly incredulous.

"Yeah," Harry replied. "We don't know what his next move is – we have to start attacking him as soon as we can." He finally looked away from Draco and turned to Ron and Hermione. "Let's all go. We can hunt for them together and stop him once and for all." What he would give to see their expressions right now. Of all the times he could have lost his glasses…

After a few seconds of silence Ron finally remarked, "Mum would literally kill me."

"If Voldemort doesn't get around to it first, you mean," Harry countered swiftly.

Another more contemplative pause ensued. "Harry, we're taking our OWLs this year. I mean-"

"What will be the use of our OWLs if there's no school to take them in, Hermione? Don't you remember? Voldemort wants Hogwarts in his grasp and unless we find a way to kill him he'll get it – believe me! In any case Hogwarts isn't safe anymore – look at just yesterday with Draco's parents. Don't you remember what I said in the Hog's Head?" Hermione flushed presumptuously even as Harry was yet to apparently reiterate his point. "We can't be thinking in that mentality anymore – we can't afford to! No more predictabilities, no more constants, no more guarantees – remember? And Fudge, the Minister of Magic, is dead! The whole Wizarding world is spiralling into chaos! Things aren't going to get any better unless we start to attack him from the inside, as soon as we can so he doesn't see us coming, Hermione! We! Us! ʼCause we're the only ones who know how to!"

There was more silence.

Harry looked down at his watch again and clucked his tongue loudly in ire.

"Ten to," supplied Draco.

"Thanks," Harry spat without looking at him. "What do you say, guys?" he asked his friends pointedly.

The two blobs in front of him did not move for a while. Then they looked at each other. "Okay, Harry," Hermione sighed. "There's really isn't any other way, if you put it like that. I mean goodness, after yesterday, the way he was so powerful, just his screaming alone could… And he could fly…!"

Harry nodded gravely before he turned back to Draco. "We're coming along – you don't have to be alone, Draco." He could not see Draco react but he felt Draco's lips on his own as he was kissed.

"Thank you," Draco whispered after he pulled back.

Harry smiled. He felt quite strange, as though the world had dropped out from beneath his feet. Everything was changing both by his own design and the world's own random nature. He could not believe what they were about to do.

"Just wait here while we get our stuff," he told Draco, who nodded.

Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way to Gryffindor Tower. Dean, Seamus and Lavender accompanied them. When Lavender broke off to join the rest of her class in History Harry had expected Dean and Seamus to follow her. But after borrowing her copy of _The Hogwarts Howler_, something which undoubtedly flattered Lavender, Dean said, "We're coming along, me and Seamus here – we want to be with you guys."

Neither Harry nor Hermione protested but they all smiled at their new companions. They met up with Draco in front of the Transfiguration classroom after a packing blitz, finding the corridor almost empty and Draco standing in the middle of it looking quite lonely and forlorn.

"Didn't have time to get Hedwig and Dragonfly – they'll just have to stay behind," said Harry as they arrived and labouring under his extremely heavy rucksack. "Thought we should come with as little as possible, which is Hermione's idea. And it was her idea as well to 'quickly dash' to the library for 'a few' books."

"You can hardly believe that the things in here are shrunken," Ron grunted as he adjusted his bulging rucksack with a wince.

"Dean, Seamus!" said Draco in astonishment as the pair dropped their tightly packed and equally bulging bags on the floor.

"Yeah. Thought we'd like to see the sea," said Dean, grinning at Draco.

"And we think we deserve a holiday too after last night, Jeanie Mac, don't you reckon?" Seamus remarked, beaming at Draco and thrilled that he had used his first name.

Draco did not respond but simply stared at them. But then suddenly, clearly panicked, he cursed under his breath, "Salazar's knickers!" and searched himself frantically until he drew out of his emerald robes a thick hairpin bedazzled with rows of diamonds that twirled towards a handsome pearl at the top. It was flashing blue.

It forcibly brought back the image of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy lying on the cobblestone lifelessly. Harry sincerely wished that this association of flashing blue with death was not something he had to live with from now on.

"One minute," said Draco, gritting his teeth. He swept his eyes over the Gryffindors standing with him. "You really want to do this?" he asked more to Harry than any other person. "You want to go with me?"

"There's nothing else I'd rather do, Draco," Harry answered. But his heart raged on and his chest felt as though it had opened up to a breathless chasm again. This was it, he had decided it. It was done. He looked at the others, unable to make out their expressions and what they could be thinking. Ron patted him on the shoulder while Dean and Seamus nodded in a very overt manner to compensate for his poor eyesight. He looked intently at Hermione, hoping she would also give a reaction he could easily perceive. Her bushy hair quivered as she too nodded, and Harry thought he could see that blazing, determined expression on her face. He turned back to Draco.

"Okay, let's gather around. Make contact with Draco," he commanded. And so they did in the empty corridor.

There was perhaps fifty seconds left to go but those fifty seconds were the longest of Harry's life. And it was within them that his heart thundered uncontrollably as a thousands thoughts whirred through his mind.

He was going to be with Draco.

He was dropping out of school.

He was making his friends drop out of school.

They were going after Voldemort's Horcruxes.

They were possibly heading to dangers that they may not be able even to imagine.

But he was going to be with Draco.

He could hear the breathing of the others picking up just as his was. They were all frightened. He kept his gaze on the blue blur of the Portkey.

No one spoke.

And there came a flash of blue.

Harry's eyes inexorably flew to Hermione and the others, but he could not see if they had done the same thing.

A second flash of blue.

_This is it._

A third flash of blue.

_There's no turning back now._

A fourth flash of blue.

_I'm so in deep shit for this._

A fifth flash of blue and he instantly felt the pull behind his navel and the accompanying nausea. His lungs were squeezed together, his body was collapsing and he saw the world give way. Hurtling through a k1aleidoscope of blurring structures and whipping scenery, Harry soon felt his feet touch earth once more.

The first sense to awaken to their new surroundings, while his eyes were suspended sightless in the sudden glare, was his nose: they picked up on the smell of salty air. Then his ears followed: the wonderful sound of crashing waves and squawks from the flying seagulls. Harry let his breath out, gasping; travelling by Portkey had never proved a comfortable experience.

He attempted to open his eyes again and when the white blanket cleared, the colours deepened and sharpened until a most stunning sight greeted him: the hazy sea stretched out in front of him, reaching farther than his dismal eyes could see. The fuzzy sun was high and bright, beaming down at them. He could vaguely discern that they were high up and near the cliff. He looked around and spotted what must be a handsome villa a small distant from them surrounded by lush greenery and in front of which stretched a grape orchard.

It was quite a sight, and Harry felt a new emotion flow into his heart: absolute freedom. This was the picture of freedom. He looked around at the others: they were probably as impressed and elated as he was. He imagined Seamus' fair face beaming with those two faintly rosy cheeks and Dean's face bright and his cheeks oozing that childish, bulging happiness again. He looked at Draco, smiled and took his hand.

"Not bad. Not too bad at all!" Seamus hooted in a voice of awe. "Do you make wine with those?" he asked excitedly as he pointed at the grapevine.

"Malfoy Chardonnay," answered Draco. "It's only white grapes here, see."

"Can we call this place our honeymoon?" Seamus asked with a cheerful laugh.

"It's Harry and Draco's honeymoon, Seamus. Don't be rude," Dean chided. But Harry could detect a trace of amusement in his voice.

"No," said Seamus, "I meant a honeymoon for the six of us – me and you, Ron and Hermione, and of course last but certainly not least, Harry and Draco."

No one responded to him. Irked, Seamus cleared his throat and ripped _The Hogwarts Howler_from Dean's hand and, while they made their way all hand in hand to the beautiful villa in front of them and under a forget-me-not sky and with the magnificent open sea behind them, began reading the legacy of Colin Creevey and Parvati Patil, two of some of the fallen foot soldiers of Dumbledore's Army.

"This should get you talking…"

* * *

_The Hogwarts Howler_. Issue #1. 01 October 1995.

**HARRY & DRACO: THE HOLY HERO & THE DAMNED DAMSEL**

A Love Story That Was Never Meant to Be Written

Parvati Patil & Lavender Brown (Unsolicited assistance by Professor Sprout)

First of all, the _Howler_ team would like to extend their condolences to the Creevey and Patil families for their losses and wish Dennis Creevey and Padma Patil all the best. Both Colin and Parvati were the most passionate fans of Harry Potter (caption: **Incorrigible Worshipper**. Colin Creevey beams into the camera beside a put-out Harry Potter Tuesday, 30th September. Photo: Colin Creevey) and Draco Malfoy and their out-of-this-world union. _The Hogwarts Howler_is the brainchild of Parvati Patil and the first edition honours her life and those of others and the beautiful zeal with which they led them.

All the beautiful people of Hogwarts, have we got some delicious bench-talk for you or what! Of course we're talking about the saga that's HARRY AND MALFOY! I mean, that we are utterly captivated by their tale would be the grossest understatement to be uttered before and after Merlin's death. It hasn't been an easy journey for our two heart-stoppers at all. It's been filled with ups and downs many of us can't even imagine and many of you don't have a clue about. So sit back and let us spin you this enchanting tale of romance between two boys whom everyone thought were never meant to be.

It all started when Parvati was discussing the break-up of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson with Harry, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Harry had gone on to ask whether Malfoy and Parkinson were really dating, which of course should have set alarm bells ringing in her head but she had never thought it a strange question since she had known Harry for as long as she had been in Hogwarts.

But then things turned slightly hairy that next Sunday when, while Harry was enjoying breakfast with the hot Ravenclaw Chaser Cho Chang after making arrangements the previous day while strolling beside the lake, Draco Malfoy sauntered into the Great Hall. _The Hogwarts Howler _has established that Harry was visibly lost for words and completely ignored the attractive girl next to him (who declined to comment about this) as he openly ogled at Malfoy making his way to his seat. We know, right? (We're like screaming at the top of our lungs right now!) That's so flippin' hot! And this is after he seemed as besotted with Cho as she was with him, blushing madly into each other's faces and what not. Can you believe it, Hogwartans?

Okay, hold onto your knickers! Stay with us, beautiful people! Then, remember that Monday morning when, right in the middle of the entire school in the Great Hall, Malfoy waltzed up to Harry, gave him back his blanket (yes, a Slytherin that actually returns stuff, shocking, we know) and then – wait for it – SMILED at Harry! Draco Malfoy flashed his perfect, million-Galleon rows of teeth! We thought we were going to faint right then! One of us had to hold the other by the shoulders!

And then, even more amazingly, after Malfoy swaggered out of the Great Hall Harry ran after him, shouting his name no less than SIX times! And after the sixth time Malfoy finally looked back and Harry, all determined-looking and with that blazing look of his eyes that makes all our blood run, walked up to Malfoy and just stared at him! He just stared at him! Oh, our bleeding' quill! What we wouldn't give to know what Harry was thinking in that moment! And he did it again when Malfoy joined us for our DA meeting! Needless to say Malfoy kept coming back!

And then mere minutes after Malfoy showed up at the DA meeting, we all know what happened. Harry went off completely off the cauldron, screaming and crying and howling and blowing these huge jets of fire into the air (caption: **Fiery Feat**. Harry Potter unleashed as he spits fire on the Quidditch pitch Tuesday, 23rd September. Photo: Colin Creevey), burning up the air and making the grass sway and the seats rumble like when the Slytherins start banging on the seats when their Quidditch team is losing. Then Malfoy muscled his way through the crowd and told the late Dumbledore that only he could get through to Harry and stop him (Lavvy just squirted).

Dumbledore – bless him – obliged and then Malfoy was hurtling towards Harry, screaming his name, asking him what he was doing. But Harry was completely out of it – he was crying and screaming and literally spitting fire like a dragon (dragon – Draco… hello?). But Malfoy finally got to him and whirled him around, said something and then they both fell to the ground and then… hang on, hang on… and then MALFOY KISSED HARRY! He pulled him down and put it right there on the lips in front of the entire school! It had taken us all by surprise so much it had Parvati going down Lavender's throat about why they hadn't seen the kiss coming.

But, if you can believe it, things were just getting _heated_, so to speak! Just the next day Harry and Malfoy walked into the Great Hall practically hand in hand! They ate their breakfast as the whole school watched in shock! Ah! The school must have thought it was hallucinating! And if that wasn't enough, Harry apparently had a one-way smooching session with Malfoy while he was under his Confundus Charm! Was this a rare show of cowardice from our favourite hero? Was he too afraid of what Malfoy would do if he tried it while Malfoy was completely aware of it? Whatever your opinion may be, we think Harry simply seized the opportunity. It's not a crime to be opportunistic.

The norm soon became drama, drama and more drama! From bubbles baths with Malfoy to Malfoy actually moving into Gryffindor Tower. Yes, you read right, and we have the picture to prove it (caption: **Making Moves**. Malfoy moves into Gryffindor Tower led by Harry Potter Wednesday, 24th September. Photo: Colin Creevey). He conveniently moved into the fifth-year boys' dormitory with Harry, Ron Weasley, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan and Neville Longbottom for "safety reasons". _The Hogwarts Howler_ could not establish the developments therein as our journalists were attacked by a monstrously large eagle owl belonging to Malfoy. But our photographer was able to snap a picture of the tense moment between the dormitory inhabitants as they stood among each other (caption: **A Snake among Lions**. Fifth-year Gryffindors Seamus Finnigan, Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas and Ronald Weasley try to suss out their new bedfellow Draco Malfoy Wednesday 24th September. We apologize for the blurry nature of the photograph. Photo: Colin Creevey).

But we were not out of the Harry-Malfoy action for long. In our next DA meeting we kindly suggested they duel each other. Naturally it was epic and many dubbed it The Duel of the Year. Before the two heartthrob duellists engaged each other they simply stared into one another for so long (so in love they were! Ah!) that Parvati actually had to yell at them to start. And the duel began. Spells flew fast and furiously. Harry was being rather clumsy in that adorable way but Malfoy was absolutely graceful as usual.

When Malfoy trapped Harry in a Tarantella Jinx, Harry did something even we could never have seen coming, people! He zoomed right across the floor to Malfoy and then – wait for it – ground his sex backside into Malfoy's lap! How [expurgated] amazing was that? How [expurgated] [expurgated] [expurgated] was that? [Expurgated]! We nearly fainted, we swear we nearly did! It was so orgiastic and out-of-his-world there is simply no words to describe it. There's simply no way to describe the way Malfoy slipped and slid, dodging Harry's spells like a Borvine pixie, came close to him, all the way up in his face, looked at him, green eyes into grey ones, and kissed him as he whispered the final spell that Stupefied Harry and sent him into oblivion. And the way Malfoy held him, and how they fluttered towards the floor, and how Malfoy laid him on the floor as gently as would a lover and then sweep out of the room as gracefully as a lynx. It was simply the best day of these two journalists' lives thus far and we'll take it to our graves!

Following that spectacular duel was more than spell-lit conversations. It seemed the news of Harry and Malfoy's relationship was paving the way for other gay couples to leap bravely out of the closet. A few Hufflepuffs have made the leap, our Hufflepuff sources report. And Seamus Finnigan has successfully converted Dean Thomas as you'll gather from our _Ramming on the Ramparts: Who Fancies Whom and Who's Ramming Whom_section. Thomas had been obviously straight as he has been known to have been dating Ginny Weasley. Her brother must be pleased.

Harry and Malfoy's relationship continued to blossom. They were soon exchanging Quidditch magazines for leisure reading (caption: **One Serving of Hot Snakeskin Please!**Harry Potter peeved at our photographer during breakfast moments before asking Draco Malfoy if he could "borrow" his "Quidditch book" Thursday, 25th September. Photo: Colin Creevey). And Malfoy was seen kissing Harry full on the lips right in the Great Hall in broad daylight!

Of course as tends to happen in relationships, Harry and Malfoy sailed onto rocky shores on a few occasions, not least of which was when, out of nowhere, Malfoy returned to Hogwarts only just yesterday after he had left for safety reasons. He stood right in front of Harry, who looked quite beside himself and doing that staring thing at Malfoy like he always does. Malfoy was going off that he felt alone and wanted to be with Harry but Harry kept demanding that he go back wherever he came from! Harry being so protective was so sexy we could have exploded into a million pieces right then and died happily! We thought it couldn't get better than Harry manhandling Malfoy outside the HoM classroom as they argued and Harry did his sexy Parseltongue thing again! (caption: **Heated Hissings**. Harry and Malfoy have words outside the History of Magic classroom Thursday, 25th September. Photo: Colin Creevey)

It's amazing to think that these two boys had been bitter enemies always prompt at exchanging heated words and raising their wands at each other in their entertaining corridor duels from the moment they first laid eyes on each other in their first year. Who would have thought their vastly different and far-apart paths would lead them to each other? Harry, incorruptible and noble, came into the Wizarding world a ready-made hero who would become a prominent figure in the fight against the Dark forces. And Draco Malfoy, the androgynous enigma whom everyone loves to hate, son of the famous and equally attractive (we confess without shame – the man was gorgeous) Lucius Malfoy, heir to an ancient fortune and a vocal adherent of supremacist philosophies. Are they ultimately star-crossed lovers, truly never meant to be? Or will the universe bow and let them conquer him as they had conquered the so many challenges their relationship has seen?

Through the hardships and the brief spells of happiness, Harry and Malfoy have stayed strong together and shown all of us what true love really means: it knows no gender or race or blood or Galleons. It comes in the most unexpected of manifestations and buds even between the unlikeliest of pairs. And whatever you may think about Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy or gay couples in general, we at _The Hogwarts Howler_ and the many of you out there believe that Harry and Malfoy deserve their newfound happiness, and we wish them the very best!

_FINITE INCANTATEM_ – THE END


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